The Duke and Miss Christmas (6 page)

Apparently his previous scandal of kissing every young lady in sight in order to win a wager had little effect on them. They seemed quite taken with him, and perhaps that was because neither lady had an unmarried daughter.

Somehow it didn't seem fair that she was more drawn to the scoundrel duke who had pinned her to the ground than Mr. Tweedy, who had always lavished compliments on her, brought flowers to her and not her sister, and treated her like a priceless piece of china he was afraid of breaking.

Louisa and Bray kept watching her and the duke, too. It was clear they both felt more had gone on between her and the duke than either of them was willing to talk about.

The conversations around the table quieted as the servants picked up the empty plates. Everyone, that is, except Mr. Tweedy, who suddenly spoke up and said, “So tell me, Your Grace, what happened to cause that mark under your eye? Perhaps you mentioned it before I arrived. It looks like it could be from a fist with a ring, and I know that can't be the case. No one would dare punch a duke.”

The duke's focus flew to Gwen. She sucked in a deep, silent breath and held it, not knowing how he would answer. Would he give away her unladylike manners? It would be well within his rights if he told Mr. Tweedy and everyone what she'd done. And it would certainly be a good way to get even with her for hitting him and make her disgrace complete.

She couldn't tell by the expression on his face what he would say. In her mind she heard:
Funny you should ask, Mr. Tweedy. I was minding my own business, trying to help Miss Sybil, who was hurt, when Miss Prim came along and bashed me on the head with her flower basket!

Gwen winced inside at her thoughts.

“This little scratch?” The duke looked at Mr. Tweedy as he pointed at the injury. “I didn't think it was noticeable.”

“Oh my, yes,” Mr. Tweedy answered. “I spotted it right off.”

When no one else made a comment, Gwen finally started breathing again. The duke smiled gently at her and her heartbeat started racing. He hadn't tattled on her and somehow she knew he never would. Gratitude filled her. Despite the way he'd made her feel when they were on the ground together, he was a gentleman after all. Now she had another reason to thank him if, after all she'd done to him, he ever gave her the opportunity.

“So what happened? Did your horse run you into some brush?” Mr. Tweedy asked in his usual good-humored tone.

Gwen stiffened, surprised that Mr. Tweedy hadn't let the subject drop.

The corners of the duke's mouth tightened as he looked at Mr. Tweedy. Gwen could tell the duke wasn't happy that Mr. Tweedy had brought the subject up again. “My horse ran me into a lot of trouble this morning.”

“I thought you were a better rider than to allow a horse to do that to you.” Mr. Tweedy gave a short laugh. “Not that you aren't an excellent rider, of course, Your Grace. I'm sure you are. Certainly didn't mean to imply otherwise.”

Mr. Tweedy laughed again. At first, he was the only one at the table who did, but then his uncle, who sat on the other side of Gwen, gave an uncomfortable laugh, too, and said, “I've had more than a few scrapes myself from high-strung horses. Been tossed over my head a time or two, too.”

“I think we all have,” Bray added.

“And I don't think the mark beneath your eye looks bad at all, Your Grace,” Lady Mountworth commented.

“Neither do I,” said Mrs. Underhill in a haughty tone, giving Mr. Tweedy an expression that warned him he was stepping over the line, before turning to the duke and saying sweetly, “but I knew there was something about you that seemed exceptionally dashing tonight and that's what it is.”

“By the way, Your Grace,” Lord Mountworth said, “we're having a gathering on Thursday evening. We'd be pleased for you to join us. I know it's short notice, but we didn't know you were in the area or we would have already sent around an invitation.”

“Yes, please do,” Her Ladyship insisted. “We'd be honored for you to come.”

The duke's attention settled on Gwen. For a moment she would have sworn to anyone that he appeared to be asking her if she would be attending. An exquisite tingle sizzled across her breasts. Before she had time to think about what she was doing she gave him a slight nod.

The duke quickly changed his attention to Lady Mountworth and said, “I'll come.”

Gwen picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. Had she just had a silent conversation with the intriguing duke? Or was it all in her imagination?

Chapter 6

Much to Gwen's consternation, it had been impossible to get the duke off her mind. And one of the reasons why was spread before her on her bed. Lined up neatly and in order were the notes the Duke of Hurst had written to her and copies of the ones she'd written back to him.

She'd kept a duplicate of each of her answers to the duke's correspondence so she would remember what she'd said to him. It hadn't been difficult to do. She had many discards. Handwriting had never been one of her talents. It took her several tries on each note before she had one that wasn't marred by a loop that was too long or a curl that was too wide. The letters she sent to the duke had to be perfect and she'd kept writing them until she was satisfied she could do no better.

Gwen smiled every time she looked at his notes to her—which had been often over the past few days. The duke's script was large and bold, though she could tell it had been written with a light, carefree hand. On the front of the note he'd properly written “Miss Gwen Prim,” but inside he'd addressed her as Miss Christmas.

She didn't mind the name. Christmastide had always been her favorite time of year anyway. And though the duke had thought her quite bold, she didn't have the courage to tease him in return and address him as Sir Ogre.

His first correspondence had arrived only two days after the day they'd met. She'd answered it that afternoon and another from him had arrived promptly the next morning and so it had continued.

No matter how many times she told herself that the duke was a scandalous rake like Mr. Standish because he wanted kisses from her only minutes after they'd met, she had to admit he had some admirable qualities, too. He was obviously attentive to his mother, and it was kind of him to inquire about Sybil. Gwen had told Mr. Tweedy about her sister's accident. He seemed quite concerned at the time, but so far he hadn't bothered to send over a note to ask about Sybil's recuperation.

Gwen leaned against the pillowed headboard and picked up the first note. She ran a finger over where the duke had written her name, and smiled. Perhaps it was silly that she read them so often, but she wanted to. Not only did it make her feel close to him, but also every time she read them she was filled with a glow of pleasure and the feeling that she must see the duke again soon.

She opened the note and read:

Dear Miss Christmas,

I am writing to inquire from you how Miss Sybil's leg injury is progressing.

Yours truly,

The Duke of Hurst

 

Your Grace,

It's kind of you to ask about Sybil's recovery. I'm happy to report there has been a little improvement. However, she is an active child and remains quite irritable at times because she is still unable to stand or walk without pain in her knee and ankle.

May I be so forward as to query you on the healing of the wound under your eye?

With all respect,

Miss Gwen Prim

 

Dear Miss Christmas,

I'm not surprised to hear that Miss Sybil's strong will has been tested while she convalesces.

The scratch has not yet faded from my face, but it is long gone from my memory. Until this evening at Lord Mountworth's.

Yours truly,

The Duke of Hurst

Gwen folded the note and laid it on top of the ones she'd already reread. She had seen the duke at Lord Mountworth's, but that was about all. During the whole of the evening it had been impossible for her to get away from Mr. Tweedy. On the occasions she'd excused herself from his presence, in hopes of finding a few minutes alone with the duke, someone else would claim either her attention or the duke's.

As had been the case at the dinner at Drakestone, she and the duke had been limited to looks, glances, and conversations with other people present. She'd had the strangest feeling of being not only disappointed but also unsatisfied when she left Lord Mountworth's that evening.

She would see the duke again at Drakestone's Christmas Eve Ball, but that was still a week away. She hadn't wanted to wait that long to thank him, so she'd written to him. Besides, it gave her an excuse to keep their correspondence going.

Your Grace,

I had expectations of having a quiet moment or two with you at Lord Mountworth's last evening, but the affair was much too busy. It concerns me because I haven't had the opportunity to thank you for the courtesy and chivalry you showed me when you dined at Drakestone a few evenings ago. I feel it would be rude of me to continue waiting longer for the chance to thank you in person so, though it's woefully inadequate, I shall do so here. You protected my reputation by casting your riding skills on a spirited horse as inferior, which we both know is not the case.

Thank you. You are quite gallant indeed. You saved me and Sybil all in the same day.

With all respect,

Miss Gwen Prim

 

My Dear Miss Christmas,

I don't believe “gallant” and “chivalry” are words that have often been used to describe me, but since they came from you, I'll accept with a smile.

I will be in attendance at Drakestone's Christmas Eve Ball, but I should like to pay a visit to Drakestone before then and check on Miss Sybil's healing progress. Tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock?

Yours truly,

The Duke of Hurst

 

Your Grace,

Sybil will be thrilled to know that you plan to visit.

With all respect,

Miss Gwen Prim

Gwen's breathing escalated as she folded the last note and laid it on top of the pile. She picked up the lavender satin ribbon and started tying the notes together, making sure the bow was made perfect. She was pleased the duke had taken such an interest in Sybil's recovery. Certainly it wasn't something he was obligated to do. And it had lifted Sybil's disposition considerably to know that he'd asked after her welfare and that he would pay her a visit this afternoon.

How could Gwen not be taken with a gentleman who would be so thoughtful and considerate to a little girl? Especially one who could, at times, be as impertinent as Sybil. Surely Gwen was attracted to him and had these warm feelings for him because of his kindheartedness. It surely couldn't be that she was opening herself up to the possibility of falling in love with an admitted rake.

When Gwen was finished with the bow, she opened the drawer on the table beside her bed and tucked the packet of letters inside. She looked over at the clock on her dressing table.

An unexpected shiver of anticipation stole over her. Only an hour to go before the duke arrived.

Chapter 7

If fate had allowed Crispin to pick the day for cutting mistletoe, ivy, and holly it couldn't have been a more perfect day for the outing. For more than two weeks the weather had been bitter cold and dreary. Just yesterday rain and fog had been so heavy he thought it must be settling in for the rest of the winter. It was still cold as a frozen pond, but the skies were as blue as the Prim sisters' eyes and as warm as Miss Christmas' sweet breath.

Crispin stopped the dray horses in front of Drakestone and set the brake on the wagon. He threw the ribbons to the footman he'd brought along to help him. The man was pivotal to Crispin's plan for the afternoon. He bounded up the steps and knocked twice on the door before the portly butler answered.

“The family is waiting for you in the drawing room, Your Grace. May I take your cloak, gloves, and hat?”

Crispin swept the hat off his head as he entered and quickly shed his cloak and gloves and followed the butler. He strode toward the drawing room at a brisk pace but slowed when he entered. His gaze landed on first the beautiful Miss Gwen Prim and then the duchess, and last the Misses Lillian and Bonnie, who stood beside the settee where Miss Sybil sat with her leg propped on a pillow.

He bowed, they curtsied, and greetings were exchanged.

“Miss Prim,” he said to Gwen, “with the duchess' permission I'd like to take you and your sisters for a ride. I brought a wagon, baskets, and all we will need. I thought we could go into the forest for fresh cuttings to decorate your ballroom.”

“May we go?” Bonnie asked, and then let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing squeal. “May we go!”

“Please say yes,” Lillian added, rushing up to the duchess. “I want to go, too.”

Miss Sybil crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “It's not fair. I can't go.”

Crispin knelt down beside her. “Of course you can. I wouldn't take your sisters and leave you behind.”

“But I can't walk yet.”

“You don't have to. I'll carry you to the wagon. It's not a fancy coach, but I brought blankets to keep you warm. You can't help us cut the holly, but you can watch.”

“Is it all right if I go, too, Louisa?”

“Of course,” she said.

Crispin rose and looked at Miss Prim. “The younger girls want to go. And I don't see Saint, but if he were here, I'd lay odds your dog would want to go, too. So do you want to join us? Do you want to go with us and help cut the greenery to decorate Drakestone for Christmas?”

Her eyes softened. “Yes, thank you. We would enjoy that. Give me a few minutes to get everyone properly dressed.”

“Take your time. I don't mind waiting.”

“All right, girls,” Miss Prim said. “Let's go get our coats, bonnets, and gloves.”