How the Duke Stole Christmas: A Stolen Kisses Novella

by Alanna Lucas

  “It simply wouldn’t be proper.”

  “I will decide what’s proper, not my son.” It wasn’t a scolding, but a firm statement.

  Within moments, the staff began to assemble in the large space. Although Patience felt out of place, she was excited to participate in this tradition once again.

  After Father had squandered all of their money and then killed himself, there had been no funds for gifts. There hadn’t been any money for staff either. There simply had been nothing. A few of the most loyal and long-time servants stayed on. Her brother had tried everything to reverse their situation, but year after year it had only grown worse. It wasn’t until he’d married Aveline that their situation improved.

  Patience remembered the utter joy in the household the first Christmas after Patrick and Aveline married. The estate was prospering again, their finances were on the upturn, but most important, they were all together, healthy and happy.

  Patience watched as the staff lined up in an orderly fashion to receive their boxes. The number of servants was quite impressive, and Clarice knew each one by name. It was quite clear she enjoyed this time-honored ritual.

  As servants approached, Clarice handed them a neatly wrapped box and thanked them for their loyal service. They all beamed with her praise and well-wishes. It warmed Patience to her very core. If she were to ever have the privilege of dispersing gifts, she would want to be just like Her Grace, kind, generous, and sincere.

  When the last servant had received their box, Clarice announced a special treat. There was to be dining, dancing, and much merriment, and everyone was invited.

  After checking on her aunt and satisfied that her illness was not getting worse, Patience joined the festivities in the ballroom. She was enjoying the music and laughter, the general jollity of the season, but underneath the joy, a layer of hurtfulness was constricting her heart.

  His Grace had fooled her.

  He was not the dashing gentleman she had danced with at Lady Trumble’s ball, and he was definitely not the same passionate man who had kissed her. His Grace was cold and distant, and extremely suspicious—of what she had no idea, and it was only the second day! Worse still, he was the only man who had ever stirred her senses. One kiss and she’d been smitten. It had far surpassed the couple of kisses previously bestowed. Just the thought made her… No, she mustn’t think of His Grace or that kiss.

  Hours later, the festivities were still energetic, but Patience needed a moment of quiet solitude. Her head had begun to throb with the constant worry that His Grace would storm into the room and halt the gaiety.

  Slipping out the room, she removed her gloves as she strolled down the well-lit hall admiring the paintings along the way. Calm ensued as distant sounds of merriment faded into the recesses of the grand house. By the time she reached the Great Hall, the only sound that could be heard was her breathing.

  Although none of the decorations had been displayed again—a topic Patience was not going to broach with Clarice—the Great Hall was still magnificent.

  Dozens of candles illuminated the room, revealing the opulence of the Duke of Greystone’s ancestral home. Richly detailed paintings and tapestries adorned the walls. Lavish artifacts and silver vases graced the tabletops. And not for the first time, Patience felt the castle, despite its grandness, was cozy and intimate. She suspected that it had something to do with only one of its current occupants. The Dowager Duchess of Greystone did not put on airs or throw her title about; she was genuine. In many ways, Clarice reminded Patience of her own mother. Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to the other woman.

  “You seemed to have ensconced yourself within my household,” a deep voice came from behind.

  “Oh,” she gasped, dropping her gloves as she turned around, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

  For the second time in so many days, His Grace had sneaked up on her. She wished she was still wearing her gloves. In a most unladylike fashion, she smoothed her damp palms down the front of her dress. Hopefully, he would not notice how nervous he was making her. Perhaps it was his tall figure, or the fact that he wore such dark colors, or the way his deep green eyes peered deep into her soul, or… that perfect kiss.

  A far-too-pleasant shiver ran down her spine. She tried to shake off the all-too-many feelings that he stirred.

  “Her…Her Grace invited me.”

  “Regardless, you appear to be taking an inventory.” The Duke of Greystone’s statement and tone was very off putting, and yet he eyed her like a man long deprived.

  On several occasions she had overheard her brother and his friend joking about men being deprived. She assumed this was what they’d meant.

  “I am doing no such thing,” Her voice raised an octave, ricocheting off the walls. She waved her hand toward the gold-edged tapestry. “Why is it so wrong for someone to admire an object of beauty?”

  “Nothing. Unless you are trying to land yourself a duke,” he said under his breath as he walked away from her.

  Oh, the man could be so infuriating!

  “I don't care about titles,” she yelled at him. He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. There was harshness in his eyes, but Patience could not control her words. “Despite what the ton believes, life is not about titles and soirées. It’s about family and church and making memories. You have a wonderful mother and all you care about is avoiding her.”

  “That’s not all I care about,” he growled.

  “Oh, that’s right! You also care about avoiding social functions and being a duke.”

  “It is common knowledge amongst the ton that you and your family schemed for your brother to marry an heiress. Now that’s all settled, it’s said that you have your eyes on a duke.”

  Unbelievable.

  She stood tall, her head only reaching the top of his shoulder. Lifting her chin, she mustered a firm tone, “If you are implying that I am here to ensnare you in the parson’s trap, then I regret to inform you that you are entirely incorrect. I do not intend to seduce you, trick you, or otherwise engage in any activities with you. In fact, I wish to forget our brief interlude at Lady Trumble’s ball.”

  His Grace opened his mouth to speak, but she was not done. No, in fact, she had only just begun.

  The words poured from her mouth in an uncontrollable deluge. “If you were not so preoccupied with your own selfishness, you might care to notice that you have a mother who loves you very much, and before you know it, she could be gone and then it will be too late. I don’t care if you take my words to heart. I am not trying to steal from you. I am not trying to lure you with my femininity, hoping to secure a marriage proposal. Nor am I some deceitful light-skirt who wants the position of your mistress. And furthermore, I’m not some simpering, pampered miss who does not understand the ways of the world. I know what it’s like to suffer, to…”

  Chapter 5

  I know what it’s like suffer. The words lingered in the air before settling in the pit of Greystone’s stomach.

  “What do you mean?” He did not want to imagine Patience suffering. He wanted her dressed in beautiful clothes, reading her favorite book by the firelight, and warming his bed. Oh, bloody hell.

  She didn’t even acknowledge his question before she turned away and uttered under her breath, “Nothing.” Her answer was short and curt, meant to push him away he supposed, but it had the opposite effect.

  He grabbed her arm and swirled her around into the full circle of his arms to face him. He glanced down into her clear blue eyes. Sadness filled their cool depths. A thud struck his heart.

  In that moment, he did not think she was trying to seduce him. In that moment, he saw her for more than a lady of the ton in want of a wealthy husband and title. In that moment, he saw someone who had been wounded. In that moment, the wall surrounding his heart began to shake and crumble just a little.

  “Your Grace,” Patience whispered out, never breaking eye contact.

  He was at the crossroads. He wanted to kiss her
again, to take away the sadness that pooled in her eyes, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to survive the torrent of emotions that she was beginning to stir in him.

  He slowly lowered his head, wanting only a brief taste of what was surely forbidden fruit. Her intoxicating floral scent wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Her lips were so close…

  Ahem. Boris cleared his throat, disrupting the moment.

  Patience pulled away, a rush of pink staining her cheeks.

  Greystone reluctantly looked away from her. “Yes?”

  “Your Grace, Miss Clara Winslow and Mrs. Holloway are here to see you.”

  Winslow? Winslow was his family name. A distant cousin, perhaps? But he didn’t know any Holloway. Dread and anxiety careened in his stomach before spreading rapidly throughout his body.

  His silence prompted Boris to question, “Shall I show them to your study?”

  “I will be there in a moment.” He turned his attention back to Patience. “We will continue…our discussion later.” He did not wait for a response, but walked away, toward his study and certain doom.

  The uneasy feeling continued to toil within his gut. Nothing good was on the horizon. He should have stayed away. This place invited and festered with trouble. A soft gasp startled him out of his musings. He looked up to find an older woman and a little girl—no more than four or five years old— holding a small brown dog with large dark eyes, standing at the entrance to his study.

  “Your Grace, I’m Mrs. Holloway,” the old woman began with some trepidation in her voice. “I was Mrs. Winslow’s maid until…” Her words trailed off. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Allow me to present Miss Clara Winslow, your brother’s daughter.”

  Standing in the hall, where anyone might hear, was not good. He ushered them into the study.

  Arthur had a daughter? Why hadn’t he written or thought to return home? It was just like his brother to do something like this. Even in death, he somehow managed to create scandal and disrupt his life.

  Greystone stood staring down at the little girl. She was the spitting image of Arthur, but in a delicate, feminine form. What did one even say to something this small?

  The little girl’s large green eyes—the same as his brother’s, the same as his—filled with tears. Clara clutched the dog tighter as she scooted behind Mrs. Holloway, almost disappearing behind the large woman’s serviceable grey skirt.

  Greystone inhaled deeply and then slowly released his breath. “Good evening, Miss Clara.” With his greeting she peered around Mrs. Holloway and eyed him. Now what would he say?

  The dog began to squirm, its tail wagging with excitement. “This is Max,” his niece whispered. His niece.

  The words were still sinking in when his mother’s voice rang out from down the hall. “Where is she?” The sound of rapid footsteps growing louder muddled his thoughts. How was he going to explain this?

  “Oh, my!” Mother exclaimed as she rushed into the room toward Mrs. Holloway. She took one look at the little girl, bent down, and brought both the child and dog into a warm embrace. “She looks so much like him.”

  Explain what?

  Years of sadness had been instantly erased from Mother’s face. Even her tone seemed lighter. “I would guess that you’re starving after such a long journey.”

  The little girl didn’t answer but nodded her head with uncertainty.

  “And I’m certain your dog would like a treat too?”

  Clara’s eyes lit up at the mention of her little dog. Mother had always had a way with children.

  Hearing the word ‘treat’, the dog wiggled out of Clara’s arms and rushed to where Greystone was standing and circled him twice before rushing back to Clara’s side.

  “Oh, yes, Max is most hungry.”

  “I know where Cook keeps all the best desserts.” Mother held out her hand and the little girl quickly accepted it. It would have been a touching scene if Greystone had had a heart. The pair practically skipped out of the room with Max following close behind, hurrying toward the promise of sweets.

  There would be no question as to what to do with the child. He had failed his mother, driven his brother off, and practically killed his father with his reluctance to make amends with Arthur. The child was an innocent victim. He had no choice but to care for her.

  Last week, his greatest concern had been which mistress to choose. Now he was faced with caring for his brother’s child, dealing with his mother, and avoiding the sensations that Miss Leybourne stirred every time she was near, at all costs. Could this Yuletide get any worse?

  A high-pitched yip echoed from down the hall, answering his unspoken question.

  “Your Grace, I have a letter for you from Miss Clara’s mother.” Mrs. Holloway reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a worn envelope.

  Greystone took the letter. As he began to read it, guilt coursed through his veins as his chest tightened.

  Your Grace,

  It is with great reluctance I prepare to leave this world and my most precious daughter. I trust you to do what’s right by my sweet Clara. Against my wishes, your brother wanted you to bring her up in the event something happened to me. It was his dying wish, and one that I will honor.

  I am sorry to have caused you such pain all those years ago. It will give you great satisfaction to know that ever since Arthur died, I too have suffered. He was the love of my life. Clara is so like him and has been my greatest joy. Please put aside your hatred for me.

  Your humble sister-in-law,

  Olive Winslow

  Greystone crumpled the letter and shoved it into his pocket. Too many recessed emotions were bubbling to the surface, all vying for his attention. He would have none of it.

  He swallowed the hard lump in his throat. This was family business and nothing more. “Thank you for escorting Miss Winslow. You will be compensated for your loyalty, Mrs. Holloway.”

  The older woman nodded uncertainly. She looked as if she wanted to say something, probably wanted to scold him, but instead chose to hold her tongue. Wise woman.

  He’d made a mess of this evening. After arranging accommodation and early morning travel for Mrs. Holloway, he decided he needed to apologize to Patience—no, he mustn’t think of her in such a familiar way—Miss Leybourne—for his behavior earlier. Despite his own trepidations, he should not have yelled at her, and he definitely should not have almost kissed her. Her honest assessment of him, although unsolicited, had given him pause. Something had changed; he no longer—or at least, not quite as much—suspected her of having ulterior motives, but he was treading on thin ice, nonetheless.

  Let’s get this over with. He wasn’t any good at apologies and did not fancy having to make this one.

  Although the festivities were still in full swing when he entered the ballroom, Miss Leybourne was nowhere to be found. He didn’t know if he was relieved or annoyed that his apology would have to wait till later.

  Keeping to the rear of the ballroom, he watched his mother, ensconced with his newly acquired niece and the little girl’s dog, eating treats. They were giggling while the dog sat, his tail frantically wagging, mesmerized by the cake in Clara’s hand. Mother pulled something out of a napkin and held it out to the little animal, who devoured it within moments.

  What happened next really puzzled Greystone.

  Clara threw her arms around his mother and kissed her cheek. How could that be? They’d only just met and yet somehow this little girl, and her dog, had wiggled their way into Mother’s heart.

  An odd sensation tingled in his own. He did not like what this scene was doing to his insides. He needed to escape…quickly.

  Turning on his heel, he began the long descent along dark corridors to an even darker room which would drown out the bitter memories.

  He’d reached the corridor that led to the family wing when the soft flicker of candlelight caught his attention. Who would be in the library at this hour?

  His body instantly he
ated as he peered inside. Of course, it had to be Miss Leybourne, looking far too enticing standing on her tiptoes, reaching up for a book, exposing the gentle turn of her ankle. Her blue silk dress clung to her luscious curves. He flexed his fingers, desperate to relieve the desire to touch.

  Should he leave?

  No. He wanted to apologize for his earlier behavior. And besides, his desire to stay had nothing to do with the fact that Miss Leybourne’s boldness both enticed and infuriated him. And it certainly had nothing to do with all the wants and cravings she stirred within him.

  Not wanting to startle her, he gently cleared his throat.

  She peered over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s you,” she said as she turned around. “You need not worry that I will steal anything, Your Grace. The hour is still rather early and I’m not in the mood for merriment. I was only searching for something to read.” Her snide tone was a reminder of his earlier behavior.

  “It had not crossed my mind.” That was actually the truth. He’d been thinking of far more inappropriate things.

  She turned around, both hands on her hips, and confronted him. “Oh, I stand corrected.” She laid the sarcasm on thick. “Then I must be trying to find a book on how to land myself a duke.”

  Her wit was as sharp as her tongue. “I did not come here to argue.”

  “Then why did you come in here, Your Grace?”

  “Why are you using such a tone?” No one had ever spoken to him thusly. He was the seventh Duke of Greystone. He deserved…no, he demanded respect, and time and time again, she had spoken her mind with no thought for consequence.

  “Since your arrival, you have made your distain for me quite clear, Your Grace.”

  For reasons he couldn’t explain, the formal use of his title was driving him mad. “Why must you continue to call me Your Grace in such a way?”

  “It is your title. Do you not demand respect and proper use of it?” How did she understand him so well, when he was not even currently sure of himself? He gave her a stern look, which she challenged. “What should I call you then?” She held her ground, a quality he greatly admired.