A Lady’s Christmas Rake

by Andresen, Tammy

  “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?”

  “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?

  Instead of saying something soft or apologetic, his mind attached itself to the fleeting realisation he had not seen his valet. “Where is Stanley?”

  That graceful, pale throat worked again. “Mr Stanley?”

  “The very same.”

  “He is no longer here.”

  He scowled. “He has gone somewhere for Christmas?”

  “No, Your Grace. He took a job elsewhere.”

  “But why?”

  Two spots of colour appeared on her cheek. “Forgive me, I thought you would be bringing your valet with you. Had I realised...”

  “I gave him Christmas off. He has a sist
er in London.”

  The fearful cast to her gaze dissipated slightly, but only a little. Not enough to appease him. Damnation, he didn’t want her fearful around him, Or did he? Did she not deserve every moment of his scorn for humiliating him? For making a cuckold of him? Nevertheless, the pang of guilt at frightening her—at always frightening her, it seemed—struck deep and sharp.

  “Mr Jacoby can attend you,” she suggested, and he recalled that was the second footman. “He is quite efficient, I can assure you.”

  Though tempted to query the departure of his valet, Alex let it slide. They had already had enough of a disagreement as it was and he’d only been in residence for all of five minutes. Was he not meant to be intent on drawing his wife into bed? Arguing with her would not help his cause. Stanley had been at Balmead for as long as he could remember but seeing as he rarely spent time in Scotland, even before abandoning his wife, he had not used his services very often.

  “Very well,” he said stiffly.

  Emma dipped her head in acknowledgement and left the room, leaving behind the floral scent to remind him of her. For all his annoyance with her, he still felt the buzz of attraction stirring through his veins. It had been what persuaded him to propose to her. There had been no friendship between them, no real basis for a marriage, but her wealth combined with the deep ache in his gut had been enough to persuade him they could have a good marriage. His family was keen on the match and thus, after no more than three social engagements, he had asked for her hand.

  Alex pushed his fingers through his hair. He had to wonder if that had not been the biggest mistake of his life.

  Chapter Two

  Emma sat in the drawing room and gazed into the fire, acutely aware Alexander was in the library. She ought to be relieved that dinner was over and the awful stilted atmosphere could be put behind her, but she found herself straightening at every creak of floorboards, every groan of the old castle, wondering if it might be her husband. Many times, in her most lonely moments, she had wished it would be him—that he had returned and would take her as his wife. Properly.

  But the reality was, her husband hated her, and she would never really be glad to see him. Loneliness was preferable surely? Nothing made her feel more useless and pathetic than when he looked at her with anger and frustration in his gaze. Emma rubbed her chest. She was a failure as a wife. In bed and out of it. Why else would he have run off? The few times they had made love had been terrible. She, in her shyness and innocence, knew little of what to do and had no way of even expressing so. What sort of wife could not even make simple conversation with her husband?

  He hated her.

  And now he was questioning her management of the castle. She was trying her best, but the years had been lean and her expenses...well, they were far higher than they ought to be thanks to Geoffrey. But what else was she to do? Abandon her half-brother to the world? No one else would help him nor acknowledge him. His very existence was an embarrassment to the family.

  Another creak made her breath catch. She should retreat to bed now, then she could be sure of not running into Alexander. Lord, if only he was not so attractive. Maybe she would not be so shy around him.

  But she knew that was unlikely. Everyone made her shy. Emma had little idea why, but ever since she was a child, she had held her tongue for fear of what people might think of her. She recalled her mother declaring her sense of humour gauche and indelicate once. She wasn’t sure she had a sense of humour anymore. She was nothing. Nobody. An attractive face with no substance, and that’s all her family had ever expected of her. Be pretty enough to attract the right man. She had done as much but where had that got her?

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, she rose and tried to ignore the building ache in her chest. For all her foolishness, she had been glad he was returning. Being secluded at Balmead, where they seldom received visitors, had been the loneliest year of her life. What a fool she had been to think her husband returning would erase any of that. Instead, she felt lonelier than ever.

  Emma tip-toed out of the drawing room and peered into the gloom of the hall. She had not taken a candle from the drawing room but the light in the top windows usually cast enough of a glow. Not tonight, however. Tonight the clouds must have converged to conceal every drop of moonlight or twinkling starlight.

  Just as she put a foot to the bottom stair and gripped the banister, preparing to make her way cautiously up to her bedroom, a cough made her jump. She squeaked and spun, nearly spilling to the floor in her haste as her foot caught on the hem of her gown. A strong, male arm looped around her waist and righted her.

  Emma found herself flattened against a similarly strong male body. Every puff of air inside her seemed to vanish and heat flowed over her. She lifted her gaze to see Alexander’s face, highlighted by the candle he was holding at a distance from her as he kept her clamped to him with one arm. If there had been any remaining breath in her body, it would have stuck in her throat but as it was there was none, so she was forced to make an odd stuttering sound.

  His deep brown eyes were hooded and soulful. The firm lips so often tightened in annoyance were relaxed. The flickering light highlighted the dip in his chin she longed to press a finger to and the dimple in one cheek. She always thought it should add a boyish air to him, but there was no disguising that hard jaw-line or stern brow. His golden hair had grown long and unruly over the year, removing any hint of a youthful air.

  Warm cotton sat beneath her palm and she realised her hand lay flat against his shirt. He had shed his evening jacket and his necktie hung loosely around his collar, leaving a tempting V of flesh in her eye line. Her fingers tingled as she recalled touching that smooth skin. He had been firm and muscled—her husband was an adventurer, a keen horseman and hunter. He even enjoyed mountaineering and had been well travelled before marrying her. It showed in every inch of his body.

  “Let me escort you upstairs. We don’t want you breaking your neck.”

  Emma swallowed and removed her hand from his chest. His arm left her waist and icy coldness washed over her. How long had it been since anyone aside from a maid had touched her? Goodness, she could hardly remember. Her parents had never been the type to offer physical affection, nor any type of affection really.

  But then he offered her his hand and she took it. Emma sucked in a breath to her air-starved lungs and held it. His fingers were warm and coarse against hers. Whatever he had been doing this past year, the roughness of his fingers told her he hadn’t given up his adventurous ways. What else had he been doing though? Seeking adventure with other women perhaps?

  The candle held firmly in his other hand, he aided her up the stairs that turned a corner twice before bringing them to the next floor. Alexander didn’t release her fingers until they stood outside her bedroom door. She glanced up and down the darkened corridor. A cold breeze nipped at her ankles, even through her thick stockings. That was nothing new. Heating the entire castle cost too much so she only had fires lit in the few rooms she used frequently. Hopefully her bedroom would be nice and warm and she had ordered one lit for the duke in the master bedroom.

  “You sleep here now?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  The master bedroom had seemed too big for her once he left. They had made an attempt at sharing a room—and a bed—in their first month of marriage, but sharing a room with him had been the most uncomfortable experience. Lying next to him, listening to his breaths and wondering how to be a better wife, wishing she had more courage had nearly sent her to tears every night.

  “I see.”

  “Well”—she glanced around, hoping to spot one of the maids, but the corridor remained silent save from the slight flutter of the curtains— “goodnight then.”

  “Is something amiss, Emma?”

  She licked her lips. Should she admit she no longer had a lady’s maid? They had few servants left after she’d been unable to increase their wages. Those who remained were fiercely loyal to her and she
considered them friends but how much longer could she expect them to work for a pittance?

  “I need someone to undo my dress and...and my corset.”

  Uncertainty dashed across his face and he too swung his gaze about. “Your lady’s maid?”

  “She no longer works here.” She braced herself for a scolding or a demand for answers but none came.

  Instead he dropped his gaze briefly to his feet before lifting it and locking gazes with her. “Go into your room. I will help.”

  “You, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, me. I’m your husband, am I not?”

  Emma nodded slowly and turned to enter her room. Sure enough the fire was lit, casting a warm glow about the pretty room. It was the most feminine and well-looked after of the castle rooms. Most were cold and damp with dark wood panelling and large medieval furniture, but this one had been used by the previous duchess and was decorated in a duck egg blue shade with white painted furnishings.

  The door shut behind her and she could not bring herself to turn to face Alexander. He was right, he was her husband after all, but he had not touched her properly since he’d left. And even then, their time together had been limited. For the hundredth time, she regretted she didn’t have a better understanding of how to be a good wife.

  His hands came upon her waist and she tightened her muscles so as not to jolt from his touch. Her pulse pounded in her ears and tingles licked over every inch of her until they gathered between her thighs. The sensation was not unfamiliar. She had always felt it when he touched her, even on their first meeting at her come-out ball, but had never known how to act upon it.

  Some curls had escaped her tightly coiled braids and Alexander swept some aside to start working on the small buttons at the back of her gown. His fingertips brushed her neck and she shuddered. His breath teased her neck and his scent wrapped about her. He must have bathed before dinner as he smelled of soap. The strongest urge to lean back into him and inhale struck deeply.

  How would her husband react to such an act? Would he push her away in disgust? Stiffen and look annoyed with her? She hardly knew.