Christmas with THAT Duke: Regency Romance (Regency Scandals Book 3)

by Arietta Richmond

  Violetta had never realised, until now, just how utterly dependent she was on having the help of a maid to dress. But there was no option. This was the only clothing she had, apart from the now extremely crumpled gown she had arrived at the Inn wearing.

  Leaving aside the stays as simply too difficult, she changed her crushed chemise for the clean one, and then wriggled her way into the gown, squirming and twisting to do up as many of the buttons down her back as she could – which was not many. This gown did not have a cropped jacket to go over it, so the gaping section in the middle of her back, where she simply could not do up the buttons, was exposed to the world.

  She went to the mirror and unpinned her hair, letting it fall to its full length, then brushed it, working stubbornly until all of the tangles were gone, then twisted it into a simple knot on top of her head, and pinned it in place as firmly as possible. It was not the height of elegance.

  Now the question which remained was one which she did not wish to face – what was she to do with the day? They were trapped in the Inn, the snow still falling outside, and she rather thought that she might go mad if she spent the whole day in their small parlour, with only Kit for company. A bubble of semi-hysterical laughter formed in her throat.

  Once, she would have liked nothing better than a day alone with Kit.

  She did not even know, she realised, how big this Inn really was, or what it contained, beyond these rooms and the Common Room downstairs. Perhaps exploring was in order - which seemed like a wonderful concept, until she remembered the button problem. A problem for which there was only one option that she could see.

  She gathered her determination, and went back out into the parlour. Kit half reclined in the armchair by the fire, negligently elegant, breathtakingly handsome. She pushed that thought aside. He looked up, and regarded her calmly, as if he knew that she would speak, as if daring her to do so. Irritation flared within her – how did he do that? How did he so easily read her?

  He waited.

  She swallowed her pride, but tried hard for dignity.

  “Kit… I…”

  “Yes?”

  His eyes were laughing at her, damn him!

  “I request your assistance. I would like to go downstairs, to walk about a bit, to see what else there is to this Inn, beyond these rooms. But…”

  She turned on the spot, allowing him to see her back. He laughed aloud, as if delighted by her plight. He probably was, damn him.

  “Oh dear, poor Vee. And you would like me to assist, by doing up your buttons? Funny, I seem to remember that you used to be far more interested in me undoing them.”

  Despite his words, he had risen, and come to stand behind her. Before he set to doing up the buttons, however, he did as he had done the previous night, and drew a fingertip down her spine, caressing her through the thin muslin of the chemise. She shivered, feeling heat pool in her core. His soft laugh came again.

  “Scandalous – no stays. What sort of woman have you become, Vee?”

  She did not dignify it with an answer, and his fingers dextrously did up the buttons, finishing by running all the way down her back again, brushing across her buttocks before falling away. She could barely breathe, and she had the horrible suspicion that her cheeks were flushed.

  Managing, eventually, to pull air into her lungs again, she turned, and thanked him, then departed the room in all haste. She did not know what she might find downstairs, but surely, it could not be worse, at this moment, than staying in this room.

  *****

  Kit watched her go, his face still a picture of amusement, but inside, he was far from simply amused. No matter his resolve to stay aloof, the moment she walked into the room, he reacted, wanted her. He had not been able to resist trailing his finger down her spine, had savoured her response, knowing how hard she tried to hide it. Yet what should have felt like sweet revenge, making her yearn for things he would not give, instead left him feeling hollow.

  He stared around the room, which felt empty, colder, now that she was not in it.

  He did not allow himself to examine the why of that too closely. The silence pressed in. On impulse, he tucked the key into his pocket, and left the room, locking it after him, and followed the path she had taken towards the stairs. He walked softly, conscious of the sound of his feet, and paused at the top of the steps, watching as she reached the bottom and turned through the door into the Common Room.

  Part of him wanted to rush down the stairs, to stand beside her, to protect her from whatever might come. And the other part of him hated himself for that weakness – he would not allow her to use him again. Still, he went down the stairs slowly, then stopped, still in the narrow corridor, and looked into the common room.

  It was crowded, as it had been the night before, both by patrons who had slept there, and by those lucky enough to have rooms, who had come down to eat. At that moment, almost all of them were looking in the one direction – at Violetta. The few women present regarded her with thinly veiled contempt, but most of the men bore an expression more of appreciation – or open lust. Just inside the Common Room door, where he could hear them, but they were not aware of his presence, stood two maids, waiting to assist whoever called for them. Their words, although spoken very softly, came to Kit clearly.

  “D’ye think she’s a trollop, despite the title? Sharing a room with a man she’s not married to, even if she’s a widow, like he said? She doesn’t look so well turned out as a Lady should, after all.”

  “Maybe, although he did say they were old friends – could be that’s true.”

  “Or he might’a meant that they were the kind of friends who bed each other.”

  “True. Maybe that messy hair is the result of a good tupping. He’s handsome enough, the Duke, I wouldn’t mind…”

  “You’ve no pride Annie. But you’re right, he’s good to look at. So’s she, from a man’s point of view, if the looks on the faces in the room are any indication.”

  At that point, two customers called for attention, and the maids hurried off, leaving Kit torn between fury and the urge to laughter. It was nice to know that he was still at least appealing enough for the maids to think him worth it, even if Vee treated him as if she thought him lower than an insect.

  In the room, Violetta had walked across to near the fire, but the frown on her face indicated she had realised that there were no vacant chairs. As he watched, a rather large man, with a florid face and stringy hair, grinned at her and patted his knee.

  “I’ve a seat for you here, Countess, if you’re not too proud.”

  All around him, other men laughed, as if he’d made a deeply amusing remark. Violetta turned in his direction, her face hard.

  “I see no space to sit, sir – I do believe that your belly has already taken that seat which you offer so generously.”

  Hands clapped, and the laughter became louder, as the others watched the man’s face purple in outrage.

  “Why you hussy! You’re obviously a woman with no manners to speak of!”

  “I match my manners to the person I speak to, sir.”

  She turned away, moving towards the other side of the room, where the Innkeep stood behind the bar, unsure of what to do. Kit suspected the man feared that Violetta’s presence, and willingness to defend herself, might spark a brawl. It was time for him to intervene.

  He stepped into the room, and walked casually across to where she stood. They all watched him. Even the Innkeep did.

  He had two choices – he could leave her to fend for herself, and simply hope that his presence in the room might be something of a deterrent to brawling, or he could make himself the focus of attention, and claim her before all of them – assuming, of course, that she let him. That was the main flaw in that option, for she was as like to slap him across the face as to cooperate, no matter what other issues that might cause.

  Madness took hold of him, and he grinned – the smile of a man throwing himself into danger, for the thrill of it. He s
poke very softly as he reached her, just enough to give her a few seconds warning.

  “Vee…”

  He saw her stiffen, but she did not turn.

  He stepped up beside her, slipped his arm about her waist in a very possessive manner, and spoke loudly.

  “So this is where you slipped off to Countess. A drink is a good idea, I agree. Innkeep, do send two large jugs of wine up to our rooms, and some more food… for strength…”

  Laughter echoed around them, but this was the good-natured laughter of men appreciating the fact that another man was a lucky bastard. The Innkeep relaxed, and gave him the smallest of winks. Against his side, Violetta was stiff, but she said nothing – a situation which he was certain would not last, once they were alone again.

  “Of course Your Grace, my Lady, I’ll send that straight up.”

  “My Thanks. And you can serve one small pot each to everyone here, on my account.”

  Cheers erupted in the room, and Kit tightened his fingers on Violetta’s hip, and turned, drawing her with him. They crossed the room without speaking, both of them wearing the sort of smiles which one wore at a society event, when facing somebody one must be polite to, no matter what. Kit sighed with some relief once they were in the corridor, but almost dragged her up the stairs. She co-operated, thank God.

  At the top, he relaxed a little, but did not remove his arm from around her. As they moved towards their door at the end of the passageway, her whisper came to him, full of anger.

  “Why did you follow me? What do you think you’re doing, embarrassing me like that? Now every single one of them will think me a trollop!”

  “They already do, Vee. And I don’t care. I seem to remember that you are a trollop – at least you were with me. And by doing that I stopped them from starting a brawl over your dubious favours.”

  “Dubious favours! That from the man who just last night praised my skill with my lips!”

  He laughed as they reached the door, and spun her into his arms, bringing his lips to hers, still caught in the madness of the moment. He kissed her hard, knowing full well that the maid and a footman had just reached the top of the stairs, carrying their food and wine.

  “And it was the truth – you are, absolutely, a magnificent trollop, with delectable lips.”

  He turned the key in the door, and led her, spluttering, inside.

  Chapter Five

  “You… how dare…”

  “Hush Vee, you don’t want to shock the maid and the footman any more than we already have - they’re at the door with our food.”

  She stalked away from him, her ferocity contained, but only just. The moment the Inn staff were gone from the room, she would inform him, in no uncertain terms, what she thought of him.

  Her lips felt half bruised, and the taste of him lingered, sparking memory again – both good and bad. Good, of his arms around her, of the passion between them. Bad, of the moment, in the darkness of the alley outside her garden gate, when she had realised that he wasn’t coming for her. That she had been abandoned, without even a farewell kiss.

  The maid and footman brought in two large trays of food, and three jugs of wine, gathered up the remains of their breakfast, and departed the room.

  As the door clicked shut, she turned to him.

  “What makes you think you have the right to kiss me? What makes you think that I will allow it?”

  “Perhaps the fact that you did? I don’t seem to remember you fighting me, Vee.”

  “You took me by surprise. It won’t happen again. Any further attempt will be met by another slap to your face – or a forceful meeting between my knee and your private parts.”

  She watched as his face paled a little – he was obviously imagining the pain which would be caused if she did as she’d suggested. Good. She wanted him discouraged.

  Do you? Really?

  She refused to contemplate the question which whispered into her mind. Of course she wanted nothing to do with him. He looked away for a moment, and when he looked back, that mask of geniality was back. He laughed softly.

  “Such a spitfire. Perhaps wine will soothe the savage beast.”

  He went to the table, and poured wine for both of them, ignoring the food, and brought the glass to her, presenting it with a bow. She should fling it in his face.

  Instead, she took it, without offering thanks, and drank. Food could come later – it was not so long since breakfast. She went to the armchair, claiming it before he could, and drank some more. At this moment, the idea of being in her cups had some appeal.

  “So, Kit – what are we to do with ourselves, now that you have made it certain that I will not be welcome downstairs – or at least not welcome in a manner I am willing to accept? How will you entertain me?”

  She knew, as soon as she spoke the words, that they were a mistake. His eyes flared, and a wolfish grin replaced the genial look.

  “How will I entertain you? Well, I would have thought that obvious, but, given that you have threatened my person if I touch you… we will have to indulge in conversation of the verbal variety instead.”

  Conversation? What had they to talk about, beyond accusing each other, damning each other for the past? She did not know, yet what else would they do with the day – certainly not spend it in bed, pleasuring each other, as they might once have done.

  “I see. How… civilised of you. And what would you have us talk of?”

  He sipped from his wine, watching her, those green-gold eyes full of something she did not understand, something shadowy and hinting at pain.

  “We have ten years of catching up to do, Vee. I am sure that we can find something to talk about. We could regale each other with a litany of our sins – we seem to have enough of those between us. Or perhaps we could be kind to each other, unlikely as that might be.”

  Violetta regarded him, feeling suddenly uncertain – was he serious? Did he suggest kindness between them? That seemed rather farfetched. Still, perhaps to attempt it would be amusing – and less exhausting than continually arguing. She sipped more of her wine.

  “Kind? You do not deserve my kindness. But for want of anything else to do, while that damned blizzard holds us here, I will indulge your suggestion. Where should we start, in this recitation of our lives?”

  “I do believe that you should begin – for, after all, you have done more than I have. You have been married, and I have not.”

  Violetta half choked on her wine. That marriage had not constituted ‘doing more’ not in any way.

  “I do not think that my marriage provides much material for discussion. I married a man more than three times my age. It was not a love match – a fact which I am sure you are aware of. I bore the requirements of my husband, as a ‘good wife’ should, but I cannot say that I enjoyed anything of that marriage, beyond the chance to spend time in Italy. Is that interesting enough for you?”

  Kit drank, and she watched him, wondering what he would say – after all, why would he care at all about her marriage – he had abandoned her, and left her with no choice. He gave a small expressive shudder.

  “How could you… with a man that old… after we had been so…?”

  Violetta laughed, a bitter, brittle laugh.

  “To use your own words, from last night. I had no choice.”

  “But… you married him – wasn’t that a choice?”

  His words were full of anger, and something deeper, as if he blamed her for the situation she had found herself in. She felt, again, a momentary impulse to throw her wine in his face. She didn’t indulge it, but simply sat, searching for the right words to respond. Perhaps bald honesty was what was called for.

  “No, it was not. Circumstances… forced it upon me. Why would I have chosen to marry such an old man, after, as you put it, we had been so…?”

  “I don’t know. But you did.”

  “Believe what you wish. After what you did to me… But enough of that. If what you want is salacious details, or the like, th
en let me amuse you. Yes, he bedded me, and no, I would not have called him… talented… in that area.”

  Kit swallowed more wine, and his face reflected an odd mixture of confusion, and a sort of pride - perhaps pride that he had been the one to teach her what ‘talented’, in terms of bedplay, meant? She drank more of her own wine, finding the need to distance herself from the world, at least a little.

  “I see. You are a connoisseur of male performance?”

  That brought her to bitter laughter again.

  “Hardly. There are precious few men I would ever consider bedding. And even fewer I would consider choosing to live with. There are good reasons that I have not remarried, even though William has been gone near three years. I value my independence. A man who is not close to me cannot hurt me.”

  She shook a little, hearing what she had just said – the wine had loosened her tongue, and that last statement was all too revealing. He studied her closely, and she wondered what he was thinking. But then he turned away, staring into the fire. His next question surprised her, seeming an odd change of direction.

  “What killed him, in the end? Were you sad, when he died? Did you… love him?”

  More questions Kit had no right to ask, after what he had done to her. Her voice was harsh as she answered him.

  “We had been in Italy for some years, and when we returned to England, to the colder weather, he caught an ague, which became a consumption, and he faded away quite fast.”

  “And the rest of my question?”

  “Did I love him? No – why would you think that I might have? He was not a bad man, but he was, in a sense, my gaoler. I was not sad, I did not grieve, even whilst I played by society’s rules, and spent my year in mourning. I was, if anything, relieved. Have I shocked you? I was not, despite acting as if it was so, a truly dutiful wife. I had too much reason, from the start, to hate the situation I found myself in.”

  *****

  As soon as the servants had left the room, Kit had found himself regretting the mad impulses which had led him to so publicly claim her, and to kiss her where the Inn staff could see. Her fury was very evident, even though, after that first outburst, she settled to grim calmness.