“I’m at least not getting worse, though I am a bit bored, lying here while the whole house makes merry. Tell me, how are things going with your suitors? I hear Lord Gosling has been most attentive.”
“How have you heard that if you have not attended the party and I have not told you?”
“You are not my only caller. Perhaps I have spies.” Her mother managed a faint smile.
Spies only made her think of Greyson. But her mother was probably thinking of Viola or Bridget.
“Well, how is he?”
“He is constantly attentive. He has been nothing but a perfect gentleman. He has spoken to me extensively about his various residences, his ideal marriage, the names for his future children, all sorts of things that have led me to believe that he will propose by Twelfth Night.”
What Serena didn’t mention was that he was...too perfect. And that made time with him a little boring, if she was being honest. She knew that he would always say the correct thing: a compliment on her dress, a comment that demonstrated what a kind and amenable husband he would be, a question that would show someone to the best advantage.
There was no risk that he would shock or anger or inflame or inspire.
Serena gasped, then and there, as it dawned on her.
He was just like her.
Perfect. Predictable. Perfectly predictable.
She understood, now, what Greyson had said so inelegantly: “If you ask me, Frye dodged a bullet by avoiding a match to Lady Serena. I know, she’s a perfect lady, but she’s a little too perfect. This will make her more intriguing, now, don’t you think?”
Gah! Greyson Jones was right!
Talk about a Christmas Miracle.
Her mother hadn’t realized that Serena’s understanding of the world had just transformed.
“Oh, Serena, you might be betrothed before Christmas and wed to Gosling within a month!”
“Mother, wait—”
But what if she didn’t wish to marry Gosling? What if he were so right that he was wrong?
Her mother carried on, oblivious: “Then everyone will forget about that business with Frye. Gosling isn’t a duke, but that’s really his only drawback. He’s as rich as one, certainly, even if he only is a viscount.”
“Mother, wait. Is that really the best reason to marry someone? So that everyone will forget that I was once jilted?”
“Of course not. You know I didn’t mean that. You must have many other reasons for marrying Gosling. You have said yourself that he is exceedingly handsome, well-mannered, and thinks highly of women. He has a fine estate, excellent connections, and that highly respected title...Plus, he is demonstrating an interest in you.”
But Serena could now think of other reasons to wed, like kisses that did indeed make time stop, sparked a fire within, and made her feel well and truly alive for the first time in her life.
She thought of an adventure with her husband; instead of trips to town or to Bath, they might travel to India together or even further abroad.
She thought of life with a man who maddened her, confused her, and, as such, challenged her. It wouldn’t be perfect, but she wouldn’t be bored, and that seemed just right.
“I know, but—”
“How is the theater production getting on? It does seem to be keeping Sophronia and Bridget too busy to make mischief, for which I am forever grateful.”
The play? It was a disaster. It was wonderful. It was ridiculous. It led to kisses with a man to whom she was not betrothed, which was inspiring crazy notions, like ditching her perfect lovesick swan and running off to India with a man who might not even like her.
“You don’t even want to know, Mother.”
Chapter 10: In which our heroine receives a curious Christmas gift.
Christmas morning
The day dawned bright, with sunshine reflecting brightly off all the snow. Heaps and heaps of snow covered nearly everything outside. The world seemed cold, still, and quiet, while inside the house was warm, glowing, and bustling with activity.
Grey was happy to be here.
Something else was warming up his heart, though, and it hadn’t anything to do with Christmas, unless it was some sort of Christmas miracle. That something was Serena.
She no longer avoided his gaze. In fact, more than once he’d caught her dark eyes fixed on him at mealtimes. She didn’t look away, either, when their eyes met.
And now, while they were in the foyer, having just returned from church services with all the guests, he would have sworn that she was lingering. For him.
Which was perfect, because he needed to steal her away for a private moment.
Grey caught up with her near the doorway to one of the smaller, private drawing rooms.
“I have a gift for you,” he murmured.
“Oh?”
“But first...oh look.” He glanced up. “It seems we are standing under some mistletoe.”
She looked up and saw that yes, indeed, a sprig of mistletoe hung above them. Her lips twisted into an adorably peevish smile.
“Are you the one who keeps moving it? I thought it was Bridget.”
“Moving mistletoe so one might strategically engineer a kiss is clearly the work of a juvenile male who feels he must resort to tricks in order to get kisses from pretty girls.” Grey paused. “I absolutely did it and I will not apologize for it.”
“You...”
Grey could see all the thoughts racing through her head—admonishments, protestations—before she decided it wasn’t really that important.
She stepped into the parlor; he followed and closed the door behind them.
“Well, then kiss me, so your work wasn’t for naught.”
“Is that the reason?”
“The only reason.”
He didn’t believe her for a second. Fancy that: Lady Serena lying! Lady Serena stealing into parlors to kiss him!
Grey kissed her before the moment was lost forever.
This kiss started sweetly and tentatively, with a soft fumbling press of her lips against his, or his against hers. It was only a moment before they both gave up the pretense. Grey’s mouth claimed hers.
He was wild with lust for her. Oh, he’d always been, but now there was no point in pretending anymore. Not when she wanted him too.
Serena grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and pulled him close as Grey wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. She kissed him right back, matching his passion.
Grey stumbled.
This was happening. Really happening.
She smiled. “Am I making you weak in the knees?”
“Something like that,” he murmured before kissing her again. He’d never tire of kissing her. Or touching her—he badly wanted to touch her. Everywhere.
He pressed kisses along her neck, eliciting moans from her parted lips. That sweet sound made him hard. God, he wanted this woman.
Wanted to lose himself in her. Wanted to bring her to dizzying heights of pleasure. Wanted to love her. Forever.
Which reminded him...
“I have a gift for you.”
He held out the poorly wrapped present and she took it.
“You didn’t need to get me anything.”
But I did.
“Go on, open it.”
Serena sat on a nearby settee and proceeded to open the present in the exact manner that one would expect Lady Serena Cavendish to do so: she opened it slowly and carefully, as if to preserve the wrapping for reuse, which was silly since she was so rich, or as if to prevent making a mess, which was just as silly, given the number of servants at Kingstag Castle.
Finally, she held the leather volume in her hand and turned it over so she could read the very long title: An Englishman in India, Or; One young Lord’s journey to the Indian subcontinent and a thorough examination of the culture, customs, geography, languages, and its people.
Serena peered up at him. “What does this mean?”
It means that I want to show you the world
. To know of things beyond dukes, weddings and house parties.
It means that I would be utterly lost in India without that book. I won’t be able to perform my duties to the crown without reading it. But I’d already be wrecked if you don’t come with me.
It means that I want you to come to India with me.
As my bride.
He was too nervous to say all these things. He was not yet sure of her response, and he feared it would not be good for him. After all, they’d only just kissed the other day and now he was asking her to consider leaving the life she’d planned behind and sailing halfway around the world with him.
“It’s a book about India, which I’m certain you gathered from the title. It’s a book one would do well to read if they were going to India. Or one might like to peruse it before their friend sets sail for that foreign land, so they might still feel close while they are actually quite far apart.”
“Mr. Jones...”
“You might as well call me Greyson now. I’ve kissed you twice and messed up your hair.”
To her credit, she only grinned and didn’t check on the state of her coiffure.
“This is surely the most interesting gift I’ve ever received. I look forward to reading this, Greyson.” She gazed at him with those unfathomable and unreadable dark eyes of hers. “Thank you.”
Chapter 11: In which there is a stunning turn of events.
The next evening
Serena had stayed up late reading the book. She snuck off throughout the day to read it too. After all, Grey would be departing for India soon and he absolutely could not set sail without this volume in his possession—he would need it to aid in his diplomatic endeavors. Why, otherwise he might inadvertently cause an international incident! She would read it quickly and return it to him.
That wasn’t the whole truth, though. Serena found it fascinating: she learned about all the various regions, customs, languages, and the like. It was all so different from England and what she was used to.
And yet, it was precisely what she excelled in: learning a new set of rules so she might understand how to blend in and put others at ease.
Serena entertained thoughts—utterly insane and completely scandalous thoughts—of traveling to India and assisting Grey in his diplomatic missions.
Not just because she could be helpful.
Those kisses hadn’t escaped her attention.
What had escaped her attention: matters concerning the house party. Her lines for the play. And Lord Gosling, her lovesick swan. Her dear friend, Lady Charlotte Ascot, had arrived that morning after years abroad and even their reunion couldn’t completely distract Serena from thoughts of Grey and what he’d meant by giving her that book.
She certainly hadn’t thought of Horace Breckenridge Church, the Duke of Frye, and wayward house party guest.
Who arrived unexpectedly after dinner.
The gentlemen were in the dining room, drinking port, smoking cheroots, and discussing improper subjects while the ladies were in the library, sipping tea and discussing indelicate topics.
A commotion in the foyer captured everyone’s attentions.
Port glasses and teacups were set down. People stood and made their way toward the foyer to assuage their curiosity. They were greeted with the sight of the Duke of Frye arriving.
What? Now?
“Hello everyone,” the duke said cheerfully. “You may have noticed there was a bit of a snowstorm out there, which made the roads fiendishly difficult to pass through. I hope better late than never isn’t just a saying, but a sentiment.”
What? No!
The duke scanned the crowd until he spotted Serena. He bowed deeply and gave her a very, very apologetic look.
“Lady Serena. My apologies for my late arrival.”
“Frye. How good of you to join us.”
She bit back the word “finally!” because that would be unnecessarily rude.
“I hope I haven’t thrown off your numbers.”
He smiled at her. She couldn’t help but smile back. Sweet, shy, sorry smiles. He was a duke. She’d been raised to be a duchess. Circumstances had conspired to throw them apart, but now...he was here. Fretting about her numbers, which she had completely forgotten to worry about these past few days.
Her heart started to thud hard in her chest.
Why had Frye come at all? Given the delay from the snowstorm, he would have a perfectly fine reason to keep away and send his regrets later. Unless he had a reason for coming to this house party that was at once a Christmas celebration and also a mini-marriage mart for her.
There could only be one reason.
Serena turned and fled.
A short while later, Grey found her sitting on a settee before the fire in the private parlor where she had unwrapped the book. She now understood it hadn’t just been a gift, but a proposal. He sat next to her without asking for permission; she was glad to have him near and glad that they had achieved such an intimacy that he didn’t feel the need to ask.
“Lady Serena, are you alright?”
“I am perfectly well. Why do you ask?”
“Because you were confronted with the sight of your former betrothed arriving unexpectedly. And then you fled.”
“It’s not what you think. Besides, I didn’t run. Ladies don’t run. They don’t pick up their skirts and flee to the nearest room where they might have some privacy to be alone with their thoughts.”
It was not a hint and he didn’t take it as such.
“What else don’t ladies do?” Grey asked.
“They don’t find themselves alone with handsome men to whom they are not married.”
“Why is that?”
“They might do wicked things. Things that ladies don’t do,” she murmured as she turned to look at him.
“Such as...”
“Kissing.” Her voice was but a whisper. The sound didn’t need to travel far, for their heads were bowed together and the distance between their lips was slowly drawing to a close. Lips touched lips. Softly, sweetly, achingly.
This meant something, this kiss.
And so did what came next.
Greyson couldn’t keep his hands off her. One minute he sank his fingers into her hair, undoubtably making a mess of it, and he held her, just kissing her, as if it were all he wanted for Christmas, his birthday, and Easter too. But then he needed to feel more of her.
Especially when she needed to feel more him. Serena smoothed her palms across his chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath the fine fabric of his jacket, and waistcoat and shirt and...She wanted to growl in frustration at all the layers that separated her bare palms from the bare skin of his chest.
“A proper lady would never request that a gentleman disrobe so that she might gaze upon his naked body,” she murmured. “And feel it, too, with her delicate lady hands.”
This made Greyson laugh, but not before he was locking the door, shrugging out of his jacket and fumbling with the buttons on his waistcoat. One by one, the layers hit the floor.
Serena gazed upon him: the smooth skin, strong limbs, the evidence of his arousal for her and how proud he seemed to stand there while she drank in the sight of him.
He kissed her again while she embraced him. His hands started exploring her, feeling her, learning her while layers of her gown were tugged down or pushed up and her stays were undone and soon he was able to touch her too.
His palms closed around her breasts, his fingers teased the pink centers until she threw her head back and sighed. He tugged her down to the settee and pushed her skirts up while he sank to his knees. Grey kissed her again—this time in that sacred place between her legs. This time she moaned. Every hot, slow, teasing circle of his tongue made her writhe in pleasure.
He teased and taunted until she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Serena cried out in pleasure.
And that was only the beginning.
She felt Grey’s warmth and weight on her.
“Serena..
.”
“Yes...” she whispered. “Yes.”
She wanted this. Wanted to feel him. Wanted to be connected with him. She knew this would change everything.
She said “yes” once more.
She gasped as he eased his hot, hard length into her. The wickedly wonderful pressure began to build inside her again as he moved within her, slow and steady and relentless. The world beyond them ceased to exist. There was only his warmth, his touch, his low groans of desire. Nothing mattered except the feeling of his hands in her hair, his mouth on her body, the way he felt inside her.
Just him.
And her.
And this pressure and pleasure building and building and building. Until she cried out once more. And he gave a shout, and one hard and deep final thrust. And then, stillness and silence, wrapped in each other’s arms.
They stayed like that for a while, all tangled up in each other.
Serena nestled into Grey’s embrace and her racing heart finally started to slow. She felt at peace.
“What were you really running from, Serena?”
She turned to face him, her hair falling around her face, lips reddened from his kiss and her cheeks pink from pleasure.
“Becoming a duchess.”
Chapter 12: In which the play is performed.
The final day of the house party
A few days later
It was hard to believe that the house party was coming to a close. Throughout the house, ladies’ maids and valets were busy packing up trunks.
In one particular trunk, a copy of An Englishman in India, Or; One young Lord’s journey to the Indian subcontinent and a thorough examination of the culture, customs, geography, languages, and its people, was also packed away, ready for the journey ahead.
Meanwhile, Grey and Serena were to be found upstairs in the corridor, closing the door to the dowager duchess’s bedchamber behind them. Her Grace was thankfully on the mend and eager for news from the house party, visits from some guests, and hints about what to expect from Sophronia and Bridget’s production, which would be that evening’s entertainment.
At the Christmas Wedding Page 17