Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  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.

  The crackle of the fire seemed unusually loud as his fingers worked down her back, popping each button as though he had all the time in the world. Her breaths rasped in her throat and any thoughts of the night being cold deserted her. All of a sudden, it was entirely too hot in her room.

  Air brushed the top of her back and he pushed the sleeves of her evening gown down. In spite of still being in her chemise and corset, with the skirt still hanging from her waist, she felt exposed. It excited and unnerved her.

  His hands came to the waist of her dress and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip.

  “Shall I...?”

  “No! Just my corset, please.”

  He could unbind her corset and leave her relatively covered. He had already seen her naked several times, she reminded herself. She was no virgin. Well, hardly. How many times had he bedded her? Four, five times? Did that even count? But right now she could not bear to be so...vulnerable. He had her at a disadvantage with the effect he had on her.

  A muttered curse came from him, and she bit back a giggle. She had never heard him curse before. He had always remained so proper around her. She had to admit she was a fine one for cursing—not very becoming of a duchess, but who was around to hear her?

  “Forgive me, these laces...”

  “Yes, they are a bother.”

  “I wonder why you wear these contraptions when we have no company.”

  He said this as though he was speaking to himself, but she answered anyway. “I’ve worn corsets for so many years, I do believe my insides would fall out if I did not.”

  Alexander’s sharp bark of astonished laughter sent a curl of warmth into her stomach, further heating her body. But it was not an uncomfortable, itchy warmth that begged her to flatten herself against him. It was a sweet, subtle one that made her feel as though her insides really were mush and in danger of doing something they shouldn’t.

  Her ribs expanded as the corset came loose and she tugged it forwards and off to fling it aside. He laughed again and put his hands to her waist.

  “You feel perfectly normal.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that.”

  She turned, his hands still upon her, unable to rid the smile from her face. When she met his gaze, she noted his eyes were crinkled in the corners and the smallest smile teased his lips. A tingle ran from her head to the ends of her toes.

  Then he glanced down. When his gaze returned to hers, the crinkles had gone and his brown eyes had grown hooded again. He pee
red at her down his nose. Emma peeked down to try to understand what had triggered such a reaction. Her dress hung from her hips and her breasts stood out against the cotton of her chemise. Her nipples were hardened points.

  Emma heard his ragged intake of breath. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth. Had she embarrassed herself? Did he like the sight? What should she do? Before she could decide, Alexander dropped his hands and backed away. He stumbled into the door and if she had not been so disappointed, she might have giggled.

  “Uh, goodnight, Your Grace, uh, Emma. Sleep well.”

  He turned, yanked open the door with a muttered curse and stalked out. Emma stared at the empty spot where he had been for several moments before stepping forwards and shutting the door. What had just happened? She should have taken advantage of the moment, if only she understood better how to handle men. If she was to ever put an end to her loneliness, she needed to persuade her husband to join her in her bed.

  Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would do a much better job of being a seductive, beautiful woman. Talking about her insides falling out? What had she been thinking? Her sense of humour really was terrible. No wonder he wanted to escape as fast as he could. But if she was ever to get what she hungered so badly for, she would have to watch her tongue and work harder to lure her husband into bed.

  She patted her flat stomach. Before the festive season was over she would have a child growing inside her. Someone to love and take care of. Whatever she had to do to entice her husband, she would do it, because the gift of a child would be worth every moment.

  Chapter 3

  Emma hadn’t risen from bed by the time Alex finished his breakfast and had spoken with the butler on the state of the house. All was well, he was assured. Her Grace was a fine mistress, but the year had been a hard one. Alex could not be so sure. Balmead had always been a profitable estate. What was she doing with the money? He would have to take the time to sit down and go through the accounts before the festivities began.

  He took a moment to study the bare drawing room. He had struck on an idea last night while he had been attempting to sleep. The lack of decorations bothered him. Their families would be joining them shortly—there being only three days until Christmas day—and the ramshackle state of the house would be apparent to them all. But a few more decorations would certainly disguise the fact to a point.

  He paced the room and eyed the far corner. The perfect spot, he decided. Besides which, the thought of standing around, waiting for his wife to rise, only to sit in uncomfortable silence grated on him. He’d far rather be outside in the fresh air, doing something active. Sitting had always been his least favourite occupation.

  Alex yawned. Not to mention he needed to wake up and when he glanced outside he saw the snow had started again. The layer on the ground was not thick enough to prevent travel but it would be freezing. Perhaps that would rouse him fully and dampen some of his heated imaginings. It was no bad thing to be attracted to his wife—not when he intended to seduce her and get her with child—but it made him a bumbling fool. Instead of using last night to get her into his bed, he had ended up nearly tripping out the door and making some insipid joke. He should have been speaking of her beauty or kissing her or something...anything!

  Still, that smile and her laugh had been...pleasant. It had rung in his ears and imprinted in his brain for the rest of the night. So not only did he have to contend with being aroused, he had to spend the rest of the night imagining her laughing and smiling at him more often. He wasn’t sure he had known she was capable of laughing.

  Striding through to the back of the castle, he came to the store room at the side of the kitchen. The scent of toast and bacon still hung in the air and the cook lifted her head to acknowledge him as he brushed past where she was pounding dough into submission. Flour puffed up and filled the air, mingling with the morning sunlight seeping through the back windows.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  “Hannah, how are you?”

  “Can’t complain, Your Grace.”

  The old woman had worked at Balmead and sometimes the ducal estate in Surrey since he was a boy. Her bony hands dug into the dough with surprising ferocity. He always thought she looked as though she could do with sampling some of her own food but suspected he’d get a clip around the ear for saying so. His rank as duke meant little to her, not when she had spent many hours chasing him around the kitchen after she found him climbing onto tables to steal pastries and treats as a boy.

  He paused and turned to lean against the rough oak table in the middle of the kitchen. “I’m glad to see you are still here, Hannah.”

  “You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried.”

  “All is well then? The duchess treats you well.”

  The grey-haired woman’s brows rose and she nodded. “Of course. I don’t put up with nonsense, you know that.”

  “Well, it seems half of the servants thought otherwise.”

  She waved a flour-covered hand at him. “Ah, some of them wanted to go onto pastures new. The duchess helped them find new work. You know what youngsters are like. Well, of course you do, you’re still one yourself really, and you certainly have never been able to stay in one place for long. Besides which, we do just fine on our own. We hardly need a large household to look after one lady.”

  Alex wasn’t sure why but he felt like he’d just been scolded for questioning the duchess’s approach to household management. For some reason, his staff appeared incredibly loyal to her. Did they not know of her lover? Perhaps he was no longer around. Surely if Hannah had realised Emma was keeping a lover, she would not be so loyal. Hannah was as old-fashioned as they came.

  “Do we have an axe?” he asked, pushing away from the table and peering into the store room. Several old boxes and trunks cluttered the space and the odour of damp stone made his nose wrinkle.

  “Aye, Your Grace, behind the box of candles. Freddie has several though he may well have taken the best one to finish chopping the firewood today.”

  Alex nodded and stepped into the dank storage room. He sneezed as he inhaled the dust in the room. It had once been the toilets many hundreds of years ago, he had been told, but now the stone ledge had been planked over and was used as shelving. He hefted the box of candles aside and spotted the axes in the gloom. Grabbing the first one, he weighted it in his hand and smiled. That would do nicely.

  He ducked out of the room to see Hannah shaping the ball of dough. “My thanks, Hannah. If anyone should ask for me, I shall likely return within an hour or so.”

  “Where are you going, Your Grace?”

  “I’m going to see if I can’t find a fine tree for the drawing room.”

  The cook’s face lit up. “Oh, lovely. The duchess didn’t want to pay to have one brought in and none of us have had the chance. I hear they’re quite high fashion in London now.”

  “Yes, and in Germany and France. They always tend to do these things first.”

  “If I finish up these pastries in time, I shall string some berries and there’s some small candles and holders in there somewhere.” She thrust a white finger towards the storage room. “Oh, if only we had children coming. I could wrap up some sweetmeats to hang.”

  He grinned. “That sounds a grand idea and I wouldn’t complain about there being some sweetmeats.”

  Hannah gave him an indulgent smile and he felt about seven again. “And the duchess may have some ribbon scraps. I am sure she would love to help.”

  His smile dropped. Damnation, if he was to seduce his wife, the idea of her helping with something should not terrify him so. The trouble was, he feared getting angry around her and he feared making a bumbling idiot of himself.

  He strode off and found the butler waiting for him in the hall with his thick coat, hat and scarf. He ignored the hat—it would only hinder him—but stuffed his arms into the coat and wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck. He passed over the axe to a stony-faced Hampton and pulled his gl
oves from his pockets to put them on before retrieving the axe and offering a jaunty salute to the grim man.

  “Toodle pip, Hampton.”

  Alex could not help but grin to himself at the butler’s bemused expression. He trudged out into the increasing snow and watched his breath puff into the air for a few moments.

  When he was far enough away from the castle, he turned to eye the building. His gaze naturally drifted to her window but he saw her curtains were still drawn. It should not have done, but it annoyed him she had moved into his mother’s old bedroom. In spite of them hardly knowing one another when they married, he’d hoped they would have a better relationship than his mother and father.

  It seemed history was to repeat itself. Except his wife was the one with a lover instead of himself. His father had taken many mistresses and Alex vowed he would always be faithful to his wife, no matter what. It hadn’t been easy. He had met many beautiful women this past year on his travels, but none quite like Emma.

  The way she bit her lips and stared at him all wide-eyed didn’t pass his notice last night. Had she realised he lusted after her? That the sight of her nipples pressed against that thin cotton, and the feel of her waist beneath his hands had made him rock hard? He suspected he’d scared her. It would not surprise him after all his terrible attempts at bedding her. She probably feared he would take her to bed and she’d have to suffer him.

  So how in the devil was he going to persuade her to let him bed her enough times to get her with child? And how was he going to make it better for her? He’d learned a few things in his time away in the Alps—a product of listening to the talk of drunk men mostly. But could he put anything into practice?

  He couldn’t help but wonder if he should not have lost his virginity to a whore rather than his wife. Or even just found someone to teach him a few things while he’d been away, but he refused to be like his father and climbing mountains and travelling for the past year hardly left him much time for more, er, sordid activities.