How the Dukes Stole Christmas

by MacLean, Sarah

  Minutes later, she emerged, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled skirts.

  His gaze tracked over her. She wore a modest day dress of rich burgundy trimmed in purple piping. She was the perfect London lady. Untouchable. But that did not stop him from seeing her as he’d seen her before with all her naked skin glistening fresh and pink. With his hands on that skin.

  Her cheeks colored brightly as she gathered up her valise and started across the chamber toward the door, no doubt reading his thoughts.

  He stepped in her path, blocking her escape.

  She lifted those guileless eyes to him. How had he ever thought her a conniving title-hungry miss? There was no deception about her. No guile at all.

  He lifted the valise from her fingers. “I’ll escort you.”

  She nodded jerkily. He opened the door, gesturing for her to step out into the corridor. She stared at him uncertainly a moment longer, then passed through ahead of him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The duke led her to another chamber without another word. Without another tempting, impossible word. He bowed politely over her hand and left her alone. Which was how she remained all day and into the night, discounting when a maid carried a dinner tray into her room.

  As alone as when her family forgot and left her.

  Melancholy wiggled its way inside her. She knew she shouldn’t feel so . . . abandoned. It was not the same as when her family left her. Sinclair was not her family. Not by a long shot.

  Besides. She wanted solitude. Blessed peace. No shrill, squabbling siblings. No mother who didn’t understand her or care to try. Right now she could be crammed into a carriage, fighting for seat space and enduring her sisters’ high-pitched dramatics as they journeyed home.

  The following morning a maid brought her breakfast, helped her with her hair and dress, and then left her. She wondered if this was to be how she spent her time here. Hidden. Forgotten. Blast it! She needn’t care. It was for the best.

  She should be grateful that they’d stopped before he’d divested her entirely of her virtue. Gads. He might feel compelled to marry her, then. She could think of no worse fate than being forced into a marriage lacking love and affection and respect simply for propriety’s sake. Married to the Sinclair . . . A strange fluttering took off in her belly.

  Left to her own devices, she availed herself of one of the books stacked atop a side table. She settled on a chaise lounge positioned near the window, draping a thick wool blanket over her legs. The fire in the room cast enough heat to reach her where she sat. The book, a treatise on the significance of the Magna Carta, was one she had not read before, but she had a dreadful time focusing.

  She often lifted her head and stared out the crack in the heavy damask drapes, gazing at the snow-shrouded grounds. Her nose twitched at the scent of nutmeg and cloves. Someone was baking. Maybe she would get to eat the fruits of their labors? She inhaled deeply of the aroma. It smelled like Christmas.

  She reflected on last night, brushing fingers over her lips, imagining Sinclair’s mouth there and how it had felt. The man certainly knew how to use those lips.

  You’re not made to be a nun. What if he was right? Shouldn’t she be more certain before entering into a lifelong commitment? She had thought she was certain of her decision. Now she was not so sure.

  She jumped, startled by a knock. Setting her book aside, she marched toward the door. Opening it, she came face-to-face with the duke, his hand poised to knock again.

  “Oh.” She stepped back, her hand fluttering to her throat. “You. Hello.” You. The utterance felt foolish. She felt foolish. All of this was so new and strange. Liking a man—wanting him. Desire.

  “Aye. Me.” He shifted, actually looking nervous, and that would be the first time she had ever seen him nervous. “I thought you might like tae go outside.” He motioned behind him.

  “Outside?”

  “Aye.”

  She glanced back toward the window. She could see snow flurries through the part in the cracked curtains.

  “We won’t be verra long,” he added, running a hand quickly through his hair and sending the dark locks aflutter. “Mrs. Benfiddy claims we need more holly.”

  “Holly?” she echoed as though she had never heard of such a thing.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Are you going tae stand here and repeat everything I say or are you going tae join me outside? We won’t take verra long. It’s still frightfully cold, but we will bundle up.”

  She inhaled a quick breath. He really was handsome—especially when he smiled like that. She considered him, looking him up and down. He was asking her to collect holly with him as though this were an ordinary holiday. As though she were a welcomed guest and not someone foisted upon him. Warmth suffused her.

  She should remember that he didn’t want her here.

  She should refuse and stay put in this room by herself until she remembered that peace and solitude were all she ever wanted. No go holly picking with a man who made her blood hum faster in her veins.

  Stay put. Indeed, that was what she should do.

  “Very well. I’d be glad to join you.” Right off the cliff….

  Fenella saw them off, waving a gnarled glove-free hand, her eyes narrowing as they clattered through the gates. She was probably surmising that her infernal biscuits had worked.

  Annis turned away from the castle and faced forward again. She counted eight riders accompanying them as they made their way in a small cart through the woods surrounding the keep. “We won’t go far,” Sinclair declared as though she were worried about the matter.

  It had never occurred to her to fret. Although, with brigands lurking about, she supposed the issue of safety should have crossed her mind. She sent Sinclair a measuring look. She suspected she had him to blame – or thank – for her lack of worry.

  He made her feel … safe. Among other things.

  She fought back a whole host of uncomfortable sensations as she shifted upon the bench. She would not think about her time in his bed. It had been a . . . dream. And like a dream, it wasn’t real. Even if a part of her—perhaps a very large part—wished it to be.

  They sat side-by-side on the bench. She folded her gloved hands in her lap. The duke had draped a great fur blanket over her, declaring her cloak and garments not enough. She had not protested. After very nearly freezing to death, she would take all precautions to avoid a repeat of that.

  The last thing she needed was to end up naked in his bed again.

  Prickles of heat broke out over her body and it didn’t feel like the last thing she needed. It felt like the only thing.

  The duke’s men eyed the trees. Even the duke himself kept vigilant, assessing their surroundings.

  “You’re worried,” she pronounced.

  He glanced at her. “Merely cautious.”

  She looked about slowly, searching as though she might find a menacing face in the nearby branches.

  “’Tis unlikely they would strike in the daylight. Or attack a party of this size. They are not highwaymen,” he reminded her. “They typically thieve empty homes.”

  Snow fell softly over them, lightly dusting her blanket and his garments.

  “Here we are,” he declared, stopping before a stout hedge of holly. The other riders pulled up, as well, waiting nearby.

  He hopped to the ground and walked around to lift her down. Then he plucked a basket from the back of the cart, handed it to her, and removed a basket for himself. There was a lightness to his step as they approached the hedge.

  He offered her a pair of shears and she accepted them, careful that her gloved fingers not brush his. Looping the basket handle over her arm, she managed to start snipping holly and dropping it in the basket.

  “I’m surprised holly gathering falls among your priorities, Your Grace.”

  He stopped abruptly and looked at her in such a way that she knew her formal address of him rankled.

  “Sinclair,” she amended.

 
; “It’s important tae Mrs. Benfiddy. She still expects the house trimmed accordingly for Christmas, brigands or no brigands.”

  Her lips twitched. “So you’re afraid of your housekeeper?”

  “Should I not be? She wields a great deal of power. One word from her and I cease tae have fresh linens on my bed and warm kippers on my plate in the mornings.”

  Annis giggled. “Except, you are her employer.”

  Smiling, he shrugged. “I inherited her right along with the keep. She’s no’ going anywhere.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “She’s legacy, then.”

  “Indeed. Practically raised me after my parents died.”

  As he was a duke, she had assumed his father was deceased in order to inherit the title, but she knew nothing of the rest of his family. She fell silent for a moment, feeling sudden pity. Here he was, essentially an orphan, and she had so much family that she was coming up with ways to escape them.

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “The cholera pandemic that took my parents also took my sister.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, feeling awful and selfish. What must he have thought of her when she told him she wanted to be a nun for the solitude and peace? He, who lost his family.

  “It happened a long time ago,” he replied, snipping a bit of holly and dropping it in his basket. “Christmastime, in fact. Twenty years ago.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze scanned the red holly berries, a quintessential reminder of Christmas. “This must be a difficult time of year for you, then.”

  Sinclair shrugged, not denying the charge. “We carry on. That is what the living do. We live even when those we love do no’. We can only remember them and honor them.”

  He sounded so very practical. Wise, but also … cold. Detached. “Still. It could not have been easy,” she remarked.

  His gaze slid to hers. “What do you want me tae say? That I cried myself tae sleep for years? I did. That I wanted tae weep at Christmas without them? Aye. I did.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes still do.”

  She blinked at that admission . . . at this vulnerable side to him she could never have imagined existed.

  Snipping more holly, he went on, “But I owe it tae my family tae live the best life I can.”

  Stilling, she stared at him for a long moment, seeing him as if for the first time. He was thoughtful and brave and strong. Not at all what she imagined when she was sprawled in an ignominious pile in his courtyard as he unceremoniously ordered her family to leave. And now she could not unknow this information about him. She could not unsee it as she looked at him. Blast it. He was not only attractive. He was likable.

  Forcing herself back to action, she snipped a sprig of holly and tucked it inside her hood, behind her ear. Immediately the aroma of holly berries filled her nose. “I’m sure they are looking down at you with pride.”

  “You’re so certain, are you?”

  He sounded less than convinced. “Of course. You’re a good man.” She seized his arm and squeezed, hoping to convey this to him.

  He held her stare. Everything seemed to melt away as she looked into his eyes and wondered if, perhaps, it was excusable to kiss this man. To do the things she had done with him again and maybe more since he was undeniably likable.

  He was leaning so close now. She was certain he was going to kiss her.

  And she was certain she would let him.

  His deep voice rumbled between them. “Still want tae be a nun, Miss Ballister?”

  “Why do you ask?” she breathed.

  “Kissing a man isn’t exactly nun behavior.” His gaze skimmed her face, pausing on the sprig of holly tucked behind her ear. He touched the tiny plant and then his gloved thumb extended to her cheek in a slow drag of leather. Her skin sprang to gooseflesh.

  “Oh.” She lifted her face a fraction higher, placing her lips closer to his. “And do you still find Christmas so objectionable?”

  His voice husked over her mouth. “I might be developing a fondness for it.”

  Suddenly an explosion sounded near her and she was flattened to the ground, the snow cold at her chest, the great weight of him over her, pushing her down.

  Shouts from the duke’s men erupted all around them. It was madness. Feet pounded. Gunfire popped all around them. The duke cursed near her ear, lifting his head to peer around.

  “Keep your head down.” Seizing her hand, he dragged her, pulling her to the side of the wagon where they were better shielded. He pulled a pistol out from his greatcoat.

  “Seamus,” he called, motioning to one of his nearby men. The bearded man scuttled over to where they hunkered behind the wagon.

  “Aye.” Seamus brandished his own weapon.

  Calder nodded at her. “I want you tae take the lass and get her tae the keep.”

  “What?” she gasped, grabbing his arm. “What of you?”

  He did not even look at her as he addressed Seamus. “I will create a distraction, drawing their fire from you and the lass.”

  “What? No!” He could not remain here where he could be hurt or killed. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at the prospect, and she knew then. She knew how very much he mattered to her.

  He uncoiled her fingers from his arm and shoved her at Seamus. “Take the lass. Cut through the woods. Protect her.”

  She grabbed his hand. “No. I’m not leaving you out here to die. We can run for the castle together.”

  Sinclair shook his head, at last looking at her, but in his eyes she read a fierce determination that didn’t bode well.

  He peeled her fingers off him again and gave her a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry. You won’t be rid of me that easily.” With one last look, he was gone, slinking low along the wagon and then around it. She surged to go after him, but Seamus wrapped an arm around her and kept her close to his side.

  Then she heard Calder’s voice boom across the air, his brogue deep and resounding with authority, “I’m the Duke of Sinclair, Laird of Glencrainn.”

  The gunfire ceased.

  “That’s our prompt.” Seamus lifted her to her feet and pulled her into the trees and toward the castle as Calder continued to talk. His voice faded to an echo as they broke through the thick branches. She struggled to go back, to make certain he was safe.

  “Come, miss. Don’t make this any worse. Move yer feet. Ye want the laird fretting for ye? He’ll manage just fine. Now let’s see ye tae safety.”

  A fervent prayer passed her lips as she obeyed Seamus and forced her legs to move. Calder would be fine. He would not be harmed. He would not be harmed. Her heart did not cease to twist in her chest even as this plea rolled over and over in her head.

  The guards at the gates were ready for them when they arrived at the castle, no doubt hearing the report of firearms. They quickly let Annis and Seamus and two other of the duke’s men inside. The rest of their party remained in the woods with the brigands. A fact that made her sick. She paced a short line in the courtyard, feeling utterly helpless, still angry at herself for leaving Calder and angry at Calder for making her go. She wanted to grab a weapon and charge back out there. If he died, she would never forgive herself. Or him.

  Mrs. Benfiddy appeared and motioned her to move inside the great hall. “Come, Miss Ballister. Let’s get ye warm within.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll stay here until Sinclair returns.”

  The housekeeper frowned. “Dinna fash over the laird. He’ll be fine, lass.”

  “We never should have gone out there.”

  Mrs. Benfiddy approached, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Aye, well ’e thought ye might enjoy an outing and these brigands usually strike dwellings at night. Pickings must have gotten thin for them tae attack in daylight.”

  “He thought I might enjoy an outing?” She looked askance at the woman. “I thought you asked him to fetch more holly.”

  “Aye, so that ye could spend a bit of time together.”

  Annis closed her eyes in a p
ained blink. “So your matchmaking is the reason we went outside the castle?”

  “Och, I’m no matchmaker. Dinna confuse me with Fenella. I merely saw the lad pining for yer company, so I gave him a reason tae see ye.”

  Pining for her company? Could that be true? She didn’t have the time to digest that. She could only look to the gates, hoping they would open to reveal him safe and hale. She called to the men on the ramparts. “Do you see him?”

  Lifting her skirts, she marched over to one of the ladders leading up to the parapet, ready to look for herself.

  Suddenly there was gunfire directly outside the gates. Men atop the ramparts released fire down below.

  “Calder.” She breathed his name, uttering it like a prayer, and started climbing up the rungs.

  “Miss Ballister, what are ye doing?” Mrs. Benfiddy called after her. “Get back ’ere!”

  She was halfway up the ladder, ignoring the housekeeper, when the command to open the gates roared from somewhere above her. She froze, watching as the thick wooden doors cracked open and the duke’s men stumbled in.

  Her heart hurt inside her chest, twisting and pumping as she scanned the group for the duke’s familiar form. A moment before the door thudded closed again she spotted him. He staggered through, an arm wrapped around one of his men who was clearly injured.

  She climbed back down the ladder. Dropping to her feet, she surveyed the chaotic scene. Household staff surged forward, mobbing the group.

  Calder snapped orders and servants appeared, quickly attending to the men.

  Even as relieved as she felt, the fear was still there. She’d never felt anything close to it. She felt as though she was not getting enough air into her lungs.

  Her gaze devoured him across the distance, assessing, making certain he wasn’t injured.