Yuletide Happily Ever Afters; A Merry Little Set Of Regency Romances

by Jenna Jaxon

  He must have obtained keys from the solicitor as he had no trouble unlocking and then removing a set of long, heavy chains.

  It felt oddly stirring to watch him do for himself, what her own husband had always relied upon others to do. Mr. Thomas did not struggle with the heavy gate. No, his muscles rippled beneath his jacket as he hefted it out of the dirt almost effortlessly and then swung it to the side of the drive.

  When he was finished, he removed his hat for just a moment and brushed one hand through his hair. But then he caught her watching him.

  At the taunting gleam in his gaze, Loretta lifted her chin.

  She wouldn’t cower but neither of them said a word to one another as he climbed back up beside her.

  “Heyo.” He charged the horses forward.

  They wound through thick trees, a forest, in fact. Not so dense, however, that she didn’t catch a glimpse of a lake hidden behind it. In a few places, she identified paths cut out, and occasional sculptures sat whimsically along the walks.

  But none of that prepared her for the charm of the house itself. Although built in a Georgian style, the two-story manor lacked the symmetry often found in the sparse designs. Long windows lined one side, whereas, the opposite site was composed of smaller windows, indicating the two stories within. Bare vines climbed around the columns to the eaves above the main entrance, dangling over the U-shaped steps.

  “Was built in 1801,” Mr. Findlay announced when he drew the curricle to a halt and then jumped off his side. “Been empty for near on a decade though.”

  Loretta forgot about her annoyance with him, instead looking upward and spying small angel statues near some top windows, while he assisted her down to the cobbles.

  “It’s charming.” Her voice came out more breathless than she’d intended. What with his hands about her waist still, him hovering closely.

  Her legs wobbled at first. Likely due to the long drive. She steadied herself a moment before stepping away and out from beneath his hands.

  “But this isn’t just a little country house, Mr. Findlay. It’s a grand estate. Surely, you wouldn’t purchase something like this only to leave it empty?”

  His answer came in the form of a grunt.

  He deftly unhitched the horses and walked them toward a few out buildings, leaving Loretta standing alone to examine the exterior.

  The only sound on the estate was of leaves scattering as a gust of wind blew through the trees.

  Loretta shivered. The two of them were so very much alone here.

  But the estate appealed to her. She imagined it beckoned even more in the springtime, when flowers would blossom where dead plants currently took up space.

  She jumped when Thomas appeared at her side again.

  As though he’d not temporarily abandoned her, he climbed the steps and addressed the locks on the door. “I’d put some servants in it, I imagine.” He groused a bit as the key seemed to stick. When it finally clicked, he unhooked the latch and looked over his shoulder. “You coming, Duchess?”

  She at first wanted to chastise him for his lack of manners. A gentleman would escort her inside. But the gleam in his eyes gave away that he knew this.

  He’d done it on purpose.

  Irritating sod.

  Loretta lifted her skirts and climbed the steps herself. When she arrived at the landing, he did, in fact, take her by the elbow and guide her inside.

  “It’s not a mansion,” he pointed out. “But big enough for large gatherings. And Cecily’s dog. Have you met Cecily’s dog, Edmond? Damned near the size of a horse.”

  Loretta chuckled, charmed despite herself.

  She had seen his daughter’s dog on one occasion. A terrifying beast which did naught but wag his tail when strangers approached.

  “And all those grandchildren.” She reminded him. When had she found her humor again? “Draw back some of these drapes, Mr. Findlay, so that we may have a proper look.” Although most furnishings were covered with sheets, what she could see seemed to have been kept in good repair.

  He did as she said, revealing a delightful view of the park in front and at the same time illuminating the intricate molding around the ceiling and a bronze chandelier, detailed with cherubs and angels, hanging in the center of the room. It ought to be gaudy, but it seemed to fit the house perfectly.

  “It feels like a home.” She spoke the words without thinking and glanced across the room to where he stood to see if he would laugh at her.

  Only he wasn’t laughing.

  “And what does a home feel like, Duchess?” He wasn’t mocking her.

  “A place to rest, to celebrate, to mourn… and a place to love.” Her breath stalled in her throat. Why had she said that?

  “I’ve never really known a proper home.” He ran one hand across the fireplace mantel and then brushed it with his other to remove the dust he’d picked up. “I’ve rested wherever I could lay my head. I’ve celebrated victories in foreign lands, and I’ve mourned in a broken down hovel when my wife died.”

  “You loved Cecily.”

  He smiled at that. “I did at that. Kept her with me as long as I could. Until I learned the importance of a proper governess to train her up right.”

  “You did well with her.” Loretta knew of the young girl’s trials that she’d faced. She’d come out of them with her head held high and her dignity intact. Couldn’t ask much more of a lady.

  “Has Eden’s Court always been a proper home?” he asked impertinently, once again reminding her of his lack of decorum.

  But then she considered the question. She’d rested there, yes, celebrated. Definitely mourned. And she’d loved her boys with all her heart.

  But something had always been missing. She knew, and yet she didn’t know. Prescott had loved her. He’d not been in love with her though.

  But there had been love.

  “It has as long as I’ve known it.” But he’d heard her hesitation and raised one questioning brow — which she chose to ignore.

  “Let’s see the rest of the house. Is there more than one salon?” This, she felt was important. A lady required a place for guests to wait but also a room to find privacy. One’s bedchamber was often overrun by maids and whatnot.

  He led her to the second salon, into a formal dining room, and another room where one could either practice fencing or host a ball. After a brief perusal of the kitchens, they climbed the servants’ stairs to the second floor.

  The staircase was narrow and winding. When she stumbled at one turn, Mr. Findlay placed his hands upon her waist and did not remove them no matter how quickly she climbed the remaining stairs.

  When they reached the landing, he took her by the elbow and guided her through a few of the rooms. They didn’t reach the master suites until last.

  It surprisingly had two dressing rooms, one sitting area, but only one bed.

  “It’s outrageous! Where is the lady of the house to sleep?” Loretta commented before thinking her words through carefully.

  Something she only seemed to do in this man’s disturbing presence.

  “With her husband, Duchess.” He pulled the large sheet down from the canopies. “Did you not sleep with your husband?”

  “Why must you always say the most outrageous things to me?” she demanded.

  But he’d moved closer to her. “What is so outrageous about a man sleeping with his wife? I find it even more outrageous to consider that a man would not sleep with his woman. Was your husband some sort of backgammon player?”

  Crack!

  Loretta stared at her stinging hand before she even realized what she’d done.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He deserved it. He’d known he was going too far the second the words flew out of his mouth. No, strike that. The second after the words had flown out of his mouth.

  He didn’t even allow himself to flinch.

  And yet.

  His blood ran cold at the expression on her face. He’d hit a mark with his joking comment.
He’d not meant to. Hell, stupid, callous bastard that he was, he ought to have remembered the rumor about the son.

  About Lord Harold.

  But that wasn’t it, and he knew the truth in an instant. The duchess’ deceased husband had preferred to lay with men.

  Fuck.

  Her complexion, rosy only moments ago, had drained of any color. And then she spun around with every intention of fleeing the room. Of fleeing from him and his careless, thoughtless attempt at a joke.

  “Duchess!” She flew through the corridor and down the stairs as he went after her. Could he even begin to set matters to right with an apology? He slowed to a walk. He’d allow her a minute or two to herself, but no longer than that. Hell, no wonder the lady had locked herself away.

  The implications of such a marriage as she’d had… he shook his head.

  The front door was left open and he could see her standing beside the curricle. Rigid. Proud.

  Alone.

  How long had she been alone for? Much longer, he’d guess, than since she’d been widowed.

  She remained still as he descended the steps and stood behind her.

  Thomas knew he’d likely be slapped again, but didn’t care. Dropping both hands upon her shoulders, he pulled her back against his front. When she went to resist, he wrapped both arms around her and held tight. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

  For his words? His insensitivity?

  Or was he apologizing for the fact that she’d essentially had a white marriage? Of course, the duke had sired two heirs, he’d fulfilled his duty. But what of affection? What of sensual enjoyment?

  “I’m sorry.” He spoke the words again, softly, near her ear.

  She shook her head but no longer fought to free herself from him. Instead, her hands came up to clutch at his arms.

  They stood alone together, neither moving or talking, for several moments. When she finally shook her head, he turned her around in his embrace so that she was facing him.

  What he saw tore at his heart.

  A lone glistening tear hovered at the corner of her eye. Warm, brown, soulful eyes. Thomas lifted his hand and collected it on his thumb.

  “At the risk of angering you further,” he began. “How in God’s name did you manage?”

  And surprisingly, she laughed at his question. And then she shifted her gaze away.

  Whether she’d taken a lover or… His groin tightened. There were some sins, he supposed, a duchess would never admit to.

  He moved his thumb to her lower lip. “How long has it been?” His question willed her gaze back to his.

  But then lashes dropped, answering his question. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d bet she’d not been kissed in ages —— if ever.

  He rubbed along the seam of her mouth, finding a hint of moisture, and then smooth, white teeth with the tip of his thumb. “You’re not dead, Duchess.”

  “But he is. They are. And I fear some large part of me is gone.” She blinked unshed tears away. Her response wrenched at his heart.

  “But you’re not dead.” He continued stroking her lip. She’d done nothing to stop him.

  “Would you like me to kiss you?” Would she admit so much?

  He didn’t think she was going to answer but then, “Do you want to?”

  At which he couldn’t help groaning just a little. “I’m holding you, aren’t I, Duchess? I’m a man, aren’t I?” He didn’t care in that moment that he was so very far beneath her. She’d been denied the affection every woman needed.

  “Yes.” He barely heard the word. God, but what a gift she was. A prickly, proud, gift.

  He replaced his thumb with his mouth. Nipping at her before she could tighten those too often disapproving lips of hers.

  He could practically hear her heart racing. “Breathe, Duchess.” He spoke the words against her mouth.

  He dropped his hands to her shoulders, and then down her arms. She trembled beneath them.

  Thomas deepened the kiss.

  ***

  Roaring filled her ears, and heat swept through every inch of her body. Her hands fluttered in the air for just a moment, until she settled them upon his shoulders. Unyielding, hard. There would be no padding beneath his jacket as Prescott had sometimes worn.

  Mr. Findlay’s arm tugged her closer, pressing all of her front into his solid length. His heat spread to her almost instantly.

  So much sensation. She didn’t remember ever feeling this way. So much to experience in this one moment. His mouth, his hands moving along her sides, the unmistakable feel of his manhood pressing against her abdomen.

  Too much.

  He pulled away when she let out a small cry, but did nothing to release her. One hand cradled her cheek and the other wound around her waist.

  His mouth remained only inches from hers, their breath mingling. His thumb massaged the tender skin beneath her chin. “Ah, Duchess.” He dropped another kiss at the corner of her mouth.

  Part of her wanted to push him away. The rational part. The part created from living years as one set apart from most of the world. These feelings could not be a good thing. They were primitive, foolish. A lady did not invite such cravings into her body.

  But there was another part of her that rebelled.

  She was not dead yet.

  She was but barely forty years old. She might possibly be only halfway through her life. Was she willing to go on living it in this shell of a person she’d become?

  “Thought I’d have to trap you beneath some mistletoe to get away with doing that.” When he chuckled at his joke, she felt all the vibrations in her own body. He stood so close. Prescott had never invited this sort of intimacy.

  Who was she? Was she a duchess or a woman?

  She pushed against those shoulders of his, and he only resisted for a moment before dropping his hands and stepping away.

  She could not look at him.

  She’d given him permission. She could not make excuses for such untoward behavior in herself. “That was a mistake.” She nearly croaked the words.

  Because, although relieved, she already missed the feel of his touch. He’d unlocked a longing within her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it now.

  “Ready to finish the tour?”

  She required a moment to comprehend what he was asking. The tour? “Of the manor.” She spoke aloud as it dawned on her. “Of course. Of course.” Head down, she returned to the front door, stopping only to wait for him to open it for her.

  She wondered that he didn’t mention her jumpiness when his hand fell upon her waist to innocently usher her inside.

  “There is an orangery in back.” Why did he not sound as unhinged as she felt? He likely kissed ladies all the time. “It leads to the gardens. And then a smaller quarters set apart from the house.”

  Loretta barely comprehended her surroundings, somehow nodding and murmuring her approval, making the appropriate observations.

  The kiss played in her mind, over and over again. How had she reached such a ripe age and never before experienced anything so carnal? So…sensual?

  “Many of the plants have died, but a few are merely dormant.” He pointed to some vines that clung to the iron along one window in the warm, sunlit area.

  She supposed that was the question she must ask of herself. Was she dead, or was she dormant?

  Dormant. Only dormant. But what would happen if she were to be watered again, so to speak? If she were to bask in the sunlight of a man’s attentions.

  She’d not even considered the possibility until today.

  Not exactly true, she reprimanded herself. She had imagined a few scenarios with this man. How could a woman not?

  Ah, so she was as much a woman as a duchess, the argument continued in her mind.

  He’d kissed her. And he’d wanted her, she knew that much. She’d known that the prodding against her center had been his member.

  Something she’d never experienced with Prescott. He’d required some time to prep
are before accomplishing the deed.

  She’d suppressed the memories of those occasions. They had been awkward, uncomfortable, and humiliating. They’d always created more distance between them than anything else. Those encounters had emphasized what was missing between them, rather than done anything to bring husband and wife closer to one another.

  She’d felt closer to Mr. Findlay during that brief kiss on the front step than she’d felt to anyone, except for her children when they’d been babes.

  Even that intimacy had been withdrawn from her.

  What would it feel like to lie with a man like Mr. Findlay? To lie with Mr. Findlay?

  “Watch your step, Duchess.” Again, he touched her protectively on the small of her back. Without him offering his arm, she drew hers through it. He glanced over and she saw satisfaction.

  He liked her to touch him.

  His hand covered hers where it rested on the wool of his jacket. The temperature had dropped, and the sky was darker in the west. Perhaps they’d experience snow after all.

  “This path leads to the other structure. We can take a look inside, and then we’d best be getting back on the road.”

  They’d walked together before, on a few occasions at Eden’s Court. This path was narrower, paved with flagstone and rough in spots. She was forced to lean into him to avoid brushing against the bushes and trees in places. She continued to do so when they stepped out of the heavy brush.

  “Could be used for a steward, or guests, I suppose.” Mr. Findlay gestured toward a porched in single story abode. Not much more than a rough-hewn cottage, but it had been carefully maintained. “Do you mind if we inspect the interior?” He was a commanding person, she knew that. He’d amassed a virtual empire on his own, and yet his voice cajoled and comforted her.

  “Not at all.” How did she manage to sound so amiable when her thoughts had her swinging back and forth inside?

  What would it feel like with a man like Findlay? The question would not leave her.

  Could she? Dare she?

  He once again held the door wide for her, and she stepped inside to glance around.