Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  And then he recalled the soft woman in his arms and those thoughts vanished. He lowered his head and dropped his gaze to those succulent lips. He ached to taste her. Her lids drooped closed, fanning her lashes against her perfect skin.

  Alex closed his eyes too. A pain jabbed his skull and he released her with a start. “Goddamn it.”

  “What’s the matter?” she stared at him, that wary look returning to her eyes.

  He rubbed the sore patch on his head and kicked the offending object—the star. They must have jostled the tree and knocked it loose. “Bloody star dropped on my head.” Emma put her hand to her mouth and he saw her eyes crinkle. A muffled laugh escaped and he glowered at her. “Not funny.”

  She bent to retrieve the star before he could take out his anger on it further. “Come here.” She used a hand to coax him to bend so as to view his head. “No damage,” she said after sifting through his hair.

  Alex righted himself and massaged the ache in his scalp. “Bloody star,” he muttered again. To think he had been that close to kissing her. The rest of his body ached too. One kiss might have led to something else and then he could have been bedding her tonight. Doing his husbandly duty and all that.

  Eyeing the star, she smiled. “I don’t think it is the bloody star’s fault. It’s probably more likely mine. You should be cursing me, Your Grace.”

  He eyeballed her for several moments. Had his icy—and admittedly sometimes sweet—wife just cursed? He released a laugh, unable to prevent it. “Bloody wife,” he said, snatching the star from her and putting it firmly on top of the tree.

  Her responding laughter sent a curl of happiness through him that he had not thought possible. Was there a chance that there could be more to their marriage than a need for heirs? The thought certainly appealed.

  Chapter 6

  By late evening, the snow was at least six inches deep by Alexander’s reckoning. Their families would not make it to them for Christmas Eve. Emma had agreed she would not even wish them to try in such weather. They would surely get trapped in the snow. Which meant they would be alone until the snow thawed.

  As she peered out of her bedroom window, she wrapped her arms about her. That meant time alone to seduce him. If only she really understood what she was doing. Starlight reflected off the snow, making it glow, and it seemed the entire world had to be white. It was magical. Like a fresh start. Washing away the previous world and starting anew. Was there a chance they could too?

  Alexander had wanted to kiss her. And she had wanted to kiss him. He had charmed her with his excitement about the tree, the way he seemed like a giddy little boy. Not to mention watching him lift that tree with ease had sent the most delicious tingle through her body as she watched his arms strain against his shirt. Then he had lifted her. Oh goodness. She nearly swooned.

  He had been hard against her—his body and his arousal. He wanted her. Perhaps he had not visited with any women this year and was in desperate need of release. Or maybe he saw her as something more than his cold wife. She understood how people saw her, but she knew of no other way to be. If she didn’t watch every word that came out of her mouth, she was likely to blurt something foolish.

  The hope that Alexander saw through her shyness and understood it was just that, burned bright but she would be wise not to cling to that. No one had ever figured out that she was not aloof but she simply didn’t know how to converse easily.

  Drawing open her robe, she chewed her lip as she eyed the slip of silk she wore. She had never owned anything like it. It was red—a festive colour perhaps, but utterly scandalous. It clung to her body and revealed the curve of her breasts. If her mother ever saw it, she would declare her a whore.

  But whore or not, she needed to draw her husband into her bed somehow. If this didn’t work, she didn’t know what would.

  A footstep on the stairs made her heart bound. She left her robe deliberately untied and drew open the door. She had to meet him at the opportune moment. Several candles remained lit on the console tables lining the hall, ensuring he saw her clearly enough.

  Dinner had been pleasant enough, but there had been no chance for her to make any sort of attempt at seduction. She refused to leave anything to chance.

  Emma counted his steps and when he was on the final one, she slipped out of the door and walked leisurely down the hallway as though heading to the stairs.

  She paused when she saw him. “Oh, Your Grace. I thought you were abed.” Emma winced at her sugary tone.

  He froze, a hand curled around the banister. “No.” His voice came out strangled.

  “I was just going down to the...” She trailed off when he began to move, swiftly, silently, like a wolf stalking his prey.

  Alexander came to stand in front of her and his gaze raked her. The chilly hallway now felt as though it was lit by a thousand fires. Her skin blazed and her breaths quickened.

  “What are you doing out of your bedroom?”

  “I...I...” The excuse she had conjured should he ask had flown from her mind. All that existed was a great ache and a mist of need crowding her vision.

  In his shirtsleeves, his collar open, his too long hair tousled, he was everything she desired. Everything she wanted. Now thoughts of conceiving a child seemed second place to simply having him in her bed and between her thighs. She pressed them together to try to ease the growing ache.

  “You are very red,” he murmured.

  The words might have made her giggle had they not been said with such seriousness or had his voice not sounded thick and gravelly.

  “I...” Oh Lord, could she say nothing? Something, anything, to coax him into her bedroom. “It is silk.” Inwardly, she groaned. That was the best she could come up with? “It feels nice a-against my skin.”

  “Does it indeed?” His gaze was still transfixed on the article of clothing, if it could be called that. He reached out and pressed a hand under the robe to cup her hip. “So it does.”

  Emma released a soft moan. He closed the gap, slipping his hand farther around her back and splaying his fingers so they brushed her rear. She wore nothing beneath the chemise and he must have felt as much as he drew in a harsh, audible breath.

  Pressed against her was hard muscle. Everywhere. Against her thighs, her breasts, her hips. And another hardness too. It made her skin prickle with heat. She lifted her chin and...

  “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  A soft curse came from Alexander and he released her. They jumped back like children caught stealing treats from the Christmas tree. Mr Hampton stood, looking severe, at the top of the stairs.

  “I saw the candles were still lit and wanted to ensure they were put out.”

  The duke nodded stiffly, and Emma fought the desire to bury her head against his chest. No doubt her cheeks were redder than her chemise.

  “Right. Thank you, Hampton.”

  Emma thought Alexander didn’t sound grateful at all. He had wanted her, had he not? If only she was brave enough to simply take his hand and lead him into her bedroom. But she was not. Instead she offered him an apologetic smile and drew her robe around her waist. Disappointment flared in his eyes.

  “It’s late. I should get to bed. Goodnight, Mr Hampton. Goodnight, A-Alexander.” His name felt hot and heavy on her tongue and when she saw the way desire lit his gaze once more, she determined she would use it more frequently.

  “Good night, Emma.” Raw need echoed in his words.

  “Goodnight, Your Graces.”

  The butler’s disapproving stare quickly doused any further ideas of trying to coax Alexander into her bed and she scurried back to her room. Shutting the door, she pressed her back against it and put both hands to her hot cheeks. To think, if Mr Hampton had not interrupted, she might be drawing off her chemise and slipping into bed with her husband.

  She should have ignored the butler and just done it. Oh, she wished she were braver.

  Alex scowled at the white scenery as the footman, Jacoby, tied his
necktie. The man did an admirable job considering looking after him wasn’t his duty, but it still aggravated him that his old valet was no longer here. Not that he had needed the man much, but it was inconvenient for them both. Surely Jacoby had better things to be doing?

  The snow had stopped at some point during the night, leaving drifts piled up on the windows. Snow weighted the trees on the horizon and every now and then clumps dropped from the roof, no doubt disturbed by the odd robin or some other creature, for the temperature was too cold to allow for any melting.

  He took a moment to eye his reflection in the floor-length mirror. Damn the footman, why had he chosen him a red and gold waistcoat? Now all he would think of all day was Emma in that ridiculous slip of a...what in the devil was it? He’d never seen the likes of it. Not that he really thought it ridiculous. Well, perhaps he did, but he also though it enticing and riveting and all kinds of other words that might summarise the way he had been taken under her spell. The way the red silk had caressed her skin and revealed the curves of her breasts and hips...

  He had to stop this or he was going to spend the rest of the day as hard as a stone.

  Bloody Mr Hampton. He should have told the butler where to go. Preferably to his bedroom, far away from them, while he saw to his wife. Emma had wanted him, he’d been sure of it. Every inch of her body had said as much, as had the moan that had slipped from her as he pulled her to him. He pushed a hand through his hair, mussing up the fine job Jacoby had done of combing it. This was hardly the behaviour of a woman with a lover waiting in the wings.

  The footman slipped a cufflink in through his shirt sleeve then set to work on the other. Alex eyed the man, who was relatively young and handsome, though older than the man he had seen Emma with. Damnation, he would start seeing potential lovers in every man if he was not careful.

  “Are you happy at Balmead, Jacoby?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Why haven’t you left like the others?”

  He paused and released Alex’s cuff. “I have a wife in the village.”

  A wife. Alex tried not to grin at the news.

  “There would be no sense in me leaving and I’ve worked here since I was a lad.”

  “So you don’t wish for more wages or a different job?”

  Jacoby’s shoulder’s stiffened. “Those who left went to the towns. Edinburgh, Glasgow, even York I believe. It’s not uncommon now. A lot of the households are losing staff to the jobs in the cities but it doesn’t appeal to me, and why should I? I earn enough to keep me and my wife in comfort, and Her Grace keeps us well.”

  “She looks after you then?”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I doubt many who left found a mistress as kind as she.”

  The disapproving tone in the footman’s voice told Alex he didn’t agree with anyone choosing to leave. Could it be his staff simply wished to move on and it had nothing to do with Emma’s mismanagement of the estate? He needed to look at the finances, and soon really. Christmas Eve or not.

  “Does the Her Grace have many friends?”

  “Friends, Your Grace?”

  “Visitors? Does she spend time out of the house much? Does she visit with people?”

  “Not really, Your Grace.” Jacoby looked a little flustered as he helped him slip his jacket on and adjusted Alex’s necktie. “She is very busy. The duchess spends most of her time in the library though she does visit the villagers when she can.”

  Alex nodded and felt some of his anxiousness slipping away. Servants knew everything. And Mr Hampton was not the type to let ill behaviour slip past him. Surely if she was still seeing her lover, there would be talk of it. Had she changed perhaps? Grown up? Emma certainly didn’t seem the type to be frivolous and foolish in her behaviour now, but then what had he ever really known of her? Nothing. He had proposed to her because their families wanted the match and he deemed her attractive enough. That had been the sum of his knowledge.

  Sometimes, he could not help but blame himself for the disaster that was their match. He should have taken the time to get to know her before proposing marriage. He sighed and straightened his jacket. And, yes, he really shouldn’t have disappeared at the first sign of trouble. His only excuse was being inexperienced and young. Not that a year counted as a huge amount of experience or time, but his travels had certainly matured him and the company of the men at the Alpine Club had taught him much.

  “Thank you, Jacoby, that will be all.”

  The footman left and Alex took one last look at his reflection. Mistakes had been made, many of them on his behalf, but he would make up for that. If there really was no lover waiting around, he might have a chance at making this a real marriage. It was Christmas Eve, and he was going to seduce his wife.

  Chapter 7

  He was surprised to see Emma already breakfasting when he entered the dining room. She had arisen so late the previous day he assumed she arose late most days. Behind the large dark mahogany table and in front of the oppressive wood panelled wall, she appeared delicate, almost out of place. Too fine for a dining room like this. He really had done her a disservice keeping her shut away in Scotland for a year.

  There was no red on her today, no slip of silk, though she looked as beautiful as ever—if not more. When she had become quite so beautiful to him, he wasn’t sure. Her attractiveness had always been apparent, but he had regarded it with a cold kind of fascination. Her normal rigid expression had always turned his heart to stone.

  But today, his heart warmed at the sight of her in another green gown. Trimmed with ribbons and with tiny buttons down the front, it warmed her cool complexion, as did her smile. It was genuine, he thought. Most of her behaviour towards him yesterday had been too. Including her concern over him. It bolstered his courage.

  “Good morning, did you sleep well?”

  No, he was tempted to say. No I did not. I couldn’t stop thinking of you in that slip of silk nor could I cease imagining peeling it away from you.

  Instead, he smiled genially and sat opposite her. “Very well, thank you.”

  He spooned some sugar into the cup already set out for him and helped himself to coffee. Breakfast was laid out over the table so he piled some eggs and toast onto his plate. She eyed the large plate of food with a twitch of her lips.

  “Hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “I suppose being out of doors for much of yesterday has given you an appetite.”

  Alex thought it a fine excuse and nodded, but he’d always been one for eating a lot. It was a good thing he was so active or he would be the size of a house. He nodded towards her plate. “And what is your excuse?”

  He let his hand hover over his fork, cursing his thoughtlessness. Had he just insulted her? Yes, he probably had. What had he been trying to say? That she ate like a man? Or that she ate too much?

  But then she laughed. He let his hand drop to the fork and he dug into his eggs.

  “I always did have a large appetite, I shall admit that much, and I have no excuse like chopping down trees.”

  “Well, you did work hard on decorating it.” He cast his gaze down the top half of her. “If you eat like that all the time, you must tell me your secret.”

  “M-my secret?” A flash of fear darted across her face, making Alex’s insides twist.

  “How you eat so much but stay slender.”

  Her shoulders sagged and her smile was relieved. “Oh, yes, that. I don’t know really. My mother is slender, I suppose, so I must take after her.”

  Nodding, he stuffed the eggs in his mouth for want of any response. For a moment the lightness and joviality had been quite pleasant but then his mention of a secret had cloaked her silence. She had one, he just knew it. Was it her lover? Something else? All his hopes of pursuing a proper marriage had been dashed by that one word. If she could not be honest or... or faithful, then what was the point? He might as well get her with child and find some other mountain to climb.

  “What are
your plans for today, Your Grace?”

  And now he was back to being Your Grace. The distance sat between them again, a chasm that could not be bridged. Not while secrets sat between them anyhow.

  “I’m going to look over the accounts and settle some business. I’m aware I’ve been neglecting this estate.”

  And her. But he didn’t say as much. They both knew it, and though she might not know he was aware of her lover, she couldn’t be so foolish as to believe this was how a marriage should be. Yes, plenty of married couples—particularly those with arranged marriages—spent much time apart, but the husband never usually ran for the hills before at least getting his wife with child.

  “I have looked after things to the best of my ability,” she said tightly.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “You really don’t need to look everything over. Things are quite sound.”

  “Yet my staff are leaving and the fires go unlit.”

  “It was their choice to leave, Your Grace,” she said softly. “I would not stop them. And they were my staff too.”

  “You could have replaced them,” he snapped.

  “Why? When there was only me to look after? It seemed a mighty waste.”

  Alex lowered his fork and curled a hand around his cup of coffee. He took a sip and paused to relish the warmth and bitter tang. Already it seemed to clear the ache in his head and the gritty sensation of too little sleep. This was not how one was meant to go about seducing his wife. If he went around accusing her of mismanagement, he would never get her into bed and he would remain heirless forever.