Seven Rogues for Christmas: A Historical Romance Holiday Collection

by Dawn Brower

  A far more important question loomed. Would she experience passion at his hands?

  Natalie looked to Daphne. “Tell me, have you any knowledge of the Earl of Maddox?”

  “I fear not,” Daphne replied.

  Natalie strolled to the fireplace, hungry for the warmth it afforded. She held her hands up, palms facing the flames. Would their home be comfortable like Harington Gardens and her family’s London townhouse or would she be relegated to roaming about cold, drafty rooms?

  “How could they expect me to wed a man I have not met? A man we know nothing about?” Her gaze remained trained on the flickering orange flames—lost in the nightmare of what could become her future. “He could be a complete scoundrel. An abuser of women, or heaven forbid, one step away from debtor’s prison.”

  Daphne came to stand beside Natalie, placing a hand on her arm. “Surely your father knows the earl. I do not believe he would betroth you to a man he did not trust to care for you—or at the least have considered what you are to gain in the match.”

  “Do you not mean what he and Mother are to gain?” Natalie failed to keep the scorn from her words.

  “He is a business man, after all,” Daphne sighed. It was the most accurate statement ever to pass the girl’s lips.

  She would make herself mad if she continued to ponder a future she had no control over. Exhaling a slow breath, she pulled her hands back from the fire’s warmth and turned to Daphne. “I pray you are correct and I do not wish to speak—”

  The door smacked against the wall, rattling a portrait hanging nearby. Lord Knightly, followed by her brother and the Duke of Kissinger, strolled into the room. Her heart skipped a beat, her words catching in her throat. She’d been told that Bradford arrived home this afternoon but no one made mention of his friends. Of course she had expected Lord Knightly to attend the Christmastide festivities, but she’d not thought he would arrive before the other guests were due in two days time.

  “Ladies.” The Duke of Kissinger offered a bow. Lord Knightly and Bradford echoed his sentiment.

  “I had heard you were home, Bradford, but was not told you brought your friends along,” Natalie forced the words past the tightness in her throat. “It is always a pleasure, Your Grace.” She nodded to the Duke of Kissinger before turning to Christian. “Lord Knightly.”

  Daphne greeted the gentlemen as well before moving to a high back chair, clearly discomforted by their male counterparts.

  Bradford approached and dropped a kiss on Natalie’s cheek. “How do you fair?”

  The glint in his eye told her he’d been to see Father and was aware of her impending betrothal. She notched her chin a fraction. “Very well, thank you.” She would no more show her emotions to her brother than she would the ton.

  She had already revealed too much to Daphne. Natalie glanced at her sitting with her head tipped down, plucking imaginary lint from her skirt. At the least, she could trust her cousin would not betray her confidence. And she had not allowed Daphne full access either. “Do let us sit.”

  “After you.” Bradford swept out one arm, indicating the cluster of furniture situated around the fireplace.

  “Always the gentlemen.” Natalie gave a knowing smirk before lowering herself onto a chair.

  Christian chuckled, tossing a look at Bradford. Natalie could not take her eyes from him—she drank in every detail as he strolled across the room and seated himself, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He appeared more muscular than he had the last time she’d seen him and his skin fairly glowed bronze. She doubted Lord Maddox could compare to him on any level. Christian was male perfection from his black hair and blue eyes to his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. For all she knew, Lord Maddox was a portly man with dull eyes and a repulsive demeanor. The type of man she could never be attracted to, let alone love.

  One thing was certain, Natalie would know passion before she tied herself to the earl. She would have Christian’s arms around her, his lips pressed to hers. “Would you all care to play a game while we await the evening meal?” She glanced at the others, smiling.

  “Blind Man’s Bluff, perhaps.” Daphne refolded her hands on her lap.

  Bradford smirked, turning his attention to Natalie. “Mother forbid us from playing that in the house after Natalie broke her favorite vase stumbling around in a blindfold.”

  “I do not stumble.” She glared at him, risking a quick glance in Christian’s direction to gauge his reaction to Bradford’s claim of clumsiness.

  “You did…right into that table.” Bradford pointed across the room at a mahogany three-legged table near a floor-to-ceiling window.

  Natalie squared her shoulders. “You are mistaken.” She smiled her sweetest smile. “All the same, Blind Man’s Bluff will not suite. How about Doctor?”

  “A splendid choice.” His Grace, the Duke of Kissinger, leaned back against the chaise. “So long as you or Lady Daphne play the role of doctor.”

  “Very well, now everyone act inflicted with some horrendous malady or another.” Natalie stood and smoothed her skirts.

  Daphne placed one, glove-covered hand over her forehead, tipping her head back while Bradford slouched against the arm of his chair. Christian mimicked the duke, stretching out across a chaise. Natalie gave herself a moment to assess each of them before beginning the game. If she could cause Christian to earn a forfeit, she’d get her kiss.

  Natalie strolled to her cousin’s side, then took Daphne’s wrist, feeling her pulse. “Lady Daphne, what are your symptoms?”

  “My head is throbbing something fierce.” The girl’s wrist was clammy, as if an illness had truly taken hold of her.

  “Worry not, all will be well.” She held her chin between her thumb and pointer finger, pondering. The trick to securing a forfeit from Christian would be in giving detailed cures, making them harder to recall later. “You simply must have the soles of your feet tickled with a peacock’s feather each night before bed.”

  Daphne giggled. “Thank you ever so much, Doctor.”

  Natalie gave a studious nod before turning to her next patient. She would bide her time, placing Christian between Bradford and the duke. Surely if she moved slowly, her odds of stumping him would improve.

  She took Bradford’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. “I fear you may be deceased, dear Brother, for I cannot feel anything.”

  He jerked his arm free. “Do get on with it.”

  “Oh, as you wish. What seems to be your affliction?”

  “My stomach has soured,” he said, his tone flat.

  She arched a brow, not at all impressed with his sudden attitude. “You will require a tonic to cure your malady. A pint of decoction of Sweet-William, with three table spoons of refined sugar, every four hours will cure you.”

  “Indeed.” Bradford shook his head before settling it back on the arm of the chair.

  “Lord Knightly, if I may.” She reached for his arm, taking her time to locate his pulse. The steady rhythm beat beneath her fingers, causing her own pulse to quicken. Without releasing him, she asked, “What ails you, My Lord?”

  “I am burning hot with fever.” Christian gave a gentle tug, freeing his wrist from her grasp.

  Her fan would be most welcome as she had warmed considerably, too. Her face fairly burned as she considered her prescription. This one need not be as complex as the others since she’d not be asking him about his own cure. “A bowl of ice will do the trick. Two cubes at night followed by one in the morning will see you sound once more.”

  “Much obliged, Doctor.” One corner of his mouth pulled up in a half-grin before she turned to the duke.

  “Your Grace, you look wretched. Do allow me to take your pulse.”

  The Duke of Kissinger rolled his head to one side. “I am so fatigued I can hardly stand to keep my eyes open, Doctor.”

  “There is an easy fix for such an ailment. You require nine and thirty hours of sleep, Your Grace.” She laughed at the absurdity of her order before s
tepping back to view all of the patients.

  The time had come to question them and discover what they remembered about her treatment plans. Daphne was certain to recall every detail. She’d always had a sharp memory. Perhaps from all the hours she spent on the fringes of activity, observing. Natalie came to stand before Daphne, her mind made up. “Lord Knightly is ill with fever. What would you order in that case?”

  “A bowl of ice is in order. Two cubes at night followed by one in the morning.” Daphne smiled confidently.

  “You are correct, as I knew you would be.” Natalie directed her attention to Bradford. “Let us see if my brother’s memory is as refined as yours. Lady Daphne is suffering a headache. What would you order for her?”

  “She requires the soles of her feet to be tickled with a feather each night at bed time.”

  Natalie raised one brow. “What type of feather is needed?”

  “Pheasant…no, ostrich,” Bradford said, lifting his head off the arm of the chair.

  “Ha! You owe me a forfeit. I ordered it be done with a peacock’s feather.”

  Bradford sat up straight, then looked at Daphne. “Does she tell the truth?”

  Natalie released an exasperated breath. “Of course I am telling the truth. Do not be a spoil sport.”

  “Daphne?” Bradford prodded.

  She released her lower lip from between her teeth and glanced between Natalie and Bradford. “She tells the truth.”

  “Very well, I concede.”

  Now she had only the duke and Christian left to ask. She studied both men for a moment as she attempted to determine the best order with which to proceed. If she were to ask the duke first, there would be but one order left for Christian to remember. Asking him first left the possibility that even if he recalled the doctor’s prescribed cure, he may not match it to the proper ailment.

  “Lord Knightly, my brother complained of a soured stomach. What would you order?”

  Natalie folded her hands in front of her belly and prayed he would get the answer wrong.

  Christian lifted his head, placing his arm behind it. “Lady Natalie, I would call for a tonic made from a pint of decoction of Sweet-William, with three table spoons of refined sugar, every six hours.”

  Her heart jumped at his mistake, she would have her kiss. After pushing back her overzealous reaction, Natalie smiled coyly. “And you would only make his stomach worse by dosing him wrong. You owe me a forfeit, my lord.”

  “Well played. What do you wish for me to do?”

  Natalie struggled to keep a grin from her lips—lips that would find themselves pressed to Christian’s before the day was done.

  Chapter 4

  Christian waited for Natalie’s reply, not at all sure what the hoyden would require from him. The glint in her eyes told him he should be wary. How had he never noted the beauty of her eyes before? They were a mesmerizing shade of blue, more like turquoise. The kind of eyes a man could drown in. He’d looked at her a lot over the years but had never seen her—not as he did now. He blinked, breaking the connection, reminding himself that she was not for him. Still, he could not stop from studying her.

  “I am not yet ready to collect, my lord.” Natalie gave a mischievous grin, then traipsed over to where Kissinger lounged against a red brocade chaise.

  Christian heard her question the duke—even heard Kissinger answer—but he knew not what they said. It was as if he were seeing Natalie for the first time. When had she blossomed into a woman? He followed the curve of her waist, trailing over the flare of her hips before directing his gaze back to her angelic face. Too bad the woman beneath all the beauty was a complete hellion and entirely off limits.

  Greenwich would have his hide if he ruined Natalie and he’d have to be mad to wed her. She would make a deplorable wife, needy and demanding. His days spent in leisurely pursuits would be ended at her hands—clubs, gambling, women—he could still attend, but she’d likely demand to accompany him. His clubs would turn them away, she’d win at cards, and his lady companions may well prefer her company to his. He’d be completely miserable with such a wife. Hell, any wife would make him miserable.

  “You gentleman are truly wretched at this game.” She laughed.

  Her merriment filled the room, and him, but quickly soured when he realized she laughed at him.

  Natalie’s declaration pulled him from his musings. He stood and strolled to the window, peering out at the darkening sky, very much in need of a distraction. A strong drink would do him well. Pity he hadn’t imbibed more before entering the parlor.

  “If not for Daphne, I would never believe that each of us got the wrong answer.” Bradford rubbed his jaw. “Do collect your forfeits so we can get on with it.”

  Christian turned back to the assembly, his gaze colliding with Natalie’s, sending a shiver through him. He could only imagine the tortures she had in mind for them. The last time he owed her a forfeit, she made him sort her ribbons. Before that, he had to attend her dance lesson. Once, she made him and Greenwich take her fishing. They should have been leery when she asked them to play, should have refused.

  She turned her attention to Kissinger. “There is to be a ball the first night of the party. I wish for you to dance with Lady Daphne.”

  Christian could not fight his amused grin. The duke would not be pleased with having to dance, certainly not with an unwed miss. When they had agreed to attend with Greenwich, the three of them had determined they would spend their time in the gaming room, attending the ball only long enough to witness the grand announcement so as not to overly anger their hosts.

  “That is not necessary.” Daphne flushed a bright pink.

  Kissinger sat up from his relaxed position and smiled. “I am honored to dance with the lady.”

  He lied well, Christian would give him that. The only thing Kissinger would be honored to do was lift her skirts. All the same, it was chivalrous of him to forgo embarrassing the lady and accept his forfeit. With luck, Natalie would ask something as mundane from him.

  Natalie nodded toward Greenwich. “You will attend Lady Daphne and myself for a game of my choosing. Of course, His Grace and Lord Knightly are welcome to join us.” She looked between him and Kissinger. “Do say you will come?”

  “You may count on it,” Kissinger answered for them both.

  Christian nodded his agreement, feeling much like a mouse in cat’s claws. The last thing he desired was to spend the afternoon in the company of ladies when there was good liquor to be had. But what choice did he have? He could not very well refuse after the others agreed; it would be seen as a slight. Christian would not disrespect a member of Greenwich’s family, no matter that it was his wayward sister.

  There would be no harm in spending time with Natalie at any rate. Over the years, they had been in each other’s company many times. She would be her annoying self and in the end and he would be exceedingly pleased to depart from her company and very much in want of a drink as he was now. Besides, one could only drink so much, and this party was to last several days. He was sure to need some sort of distraction from his boredom.

  He inhaled a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he waited for his order. She looked at him for a moment, then at the floor. He’d had enough of her games for one day. “And what do you require of me?”

  She met his eyes, a coy smile tugging at her full, pink lips. “I am not quite sure as of yet. Let us depart so we can ready ourselves for the evening meal and I will call in your forfeit once I have settled on something fitting.”

  “I fear you are in trouble, Knightly.” Greenwich smirked.

  Christian clenched his jaw in irritation. “Indeed.” They should never have allowed her to get away with demanding such outrageous forfeits. It was unheard of, with the exception of Lady Natalie. Everyone else asked for things like kisses or required you to cluck like a chicken. Fast things done before the gathering dispersed.

  Natalie curtsied. “Until later.”

  Greenwich and Ki
ssinger rose to their feet.

  She gave them a nod, then signaled Daphne, waving toward the door. “Come along, we don’t want to be short of time.”

  Daphne stood and offered her own curtsy before both women took their leave. Christian’s ire grew as he watched Natalie disappear into the hallway. It would serve her right if he refused whatever she came up with. Perhaps he would do just that.

  “I could use some fortification, gentleman.” Kissinger smoothed his cravat.

  “I was thinking the same.” Christian reached for a tumbler from the sideboard, poured three fingers of brandy into it, then passed the decanter to Kissinger. “Won’t you join us, Greenwich?”

  “Mother will have a fit if we arrive to dinner already in our cups.” Greenwich accepted the decanter. “But, one or three will not hurt.”

  Christian chuckled, clicking his glass against the one Greenwich now held. “Cheers.”

  “You better get those dancing shoes ready,” Greenwich jested, looking at Kissinger.

  “I am rather looking forward to it. It has been some time since I held something so pure.” The duke winked.

  “You had better not debauch my cousin.” Greenwich took a long draw from his tumbler. “She is a sweet girl, not at all accustomed to spending time with gentlemen the likes of you.”

  “Fear not, she will be safe with me. I have no desire to find myself trapped in the parson’s noose.”

  Christian’s mind wandered back to Natalie, shutting out the banter of his friends. She seemed to be in good spirits despite her impending nuptials. Her mischievous nature had certainly been alive and well. Was she happy about the arrangement or had she simply not been told as of yet? Perhaps she was biding her time—processing her impending fate. Heaven help them all if she were plotting for he could not imagine her quietly accepting the dictate if she did not wish for the match.

  “What has you woolgathering, Knightly?” Greenwich poured more brandy into his glass.