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

by Arietta Richmond

  “Sort it out, Chris, ten years is a long time to carry bitter pain. You both deserve better than a life of misery.”

  With that, Dash left the room.

  Kit sipped the brandy, and thought.

  It was near dawn again before he went up to bed.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Kit woke the next morning, he chose to take breakfast in his rooms. Before he went anywhere near Violetta, he wanted to revisit his thinking of the previous night, to be sure of the conclusions he had reached based on Dash’s cryptic answers to his questions.

  In the end, there was only one thing he could imagine which might make sense of what Dash had said. If Vee had carried his child, and been hurt by her father, she might well have lost that child. And that was something from which neither the heart nor the body would heal easily. It was a possibility which horrified him – not because he was disturbed by the idea that she might have conceived a child to him – far from it – but because his heart broke to think of her, left there, believing he had abandoned her, and then forced to marry Caldicot, even while she bore Kit’s child within her.

  He had to know if that assessment of Dash’s meaning was correct – had to speak to her again, and spend far more time actually talking, rather than allowing the physical to distract them.

  And if it was correct… why had she not told him, then? They had seen each other at a soiree only a few days before that fateful night. Like everything else about that time, he did not know enough, and what he did know seemed to make no sense.

  He would speak to her quietly during the day, and arrange to see her alone tonight, to discuss it. He had told her of his broken arm, and the two weeks drugged – but he had not told her of his suspicions with respect to his father making certain that he had stayed drugged longer than necessary. She deserved to know, and he felt the need to discuss it with someone who might understand. If her father was as he now suspected he had been, then she would understand him suspecting his own father of such nefarious actions.

  He stayed in his rooms until the early afternoon, choosing, for the first time since that terrible day, to intentionally recall everything, every moment of it. He wanted to discover any small clues to the events of that day which he might previously have disregarded.

  *****

  Violetta had come down to breakfast early, after a restful night’s sleep, during which she had dreamed of Kit’s kisses, of his body moving over hers. Shockingly, after so long spent wishing him to the devil, she found herself craving his body, craving his presence, intensely.

  The breakfast room was empty, and she relaxed, taking her food in a leisurely manner, enjoying the peace of the morning. As she drank her second cup of tea, and savoured the last of her food, Dash entered the room.

  “And here I was, thinking that I had managed to rise before all of my guests.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I woke early for once, and decided to rise, rather than attempting to get back to sleep.”

  “I can understand that – once I wake, going back to sleep is rarely possible.”

  He went to the sideboard, selected some food, then sat beside her to eat. Violetta regarded him, curious – she’d had little time to talk with him since her arrival, beyond that one fraught discussion of her past – all her focus had been on Kit, and untangling that puzzle, and her feelings.

  “Dash, did I hear you say, at your wedding, that some of your collection is here rather than at the museum?”

  He finished a mouthful of food and grinned at her.

  “You did – I gather that you’d like to see?”

  “I would – given the few pieces you showed me in Italy, the rest is likely fascinating.”

  “I think it is – but then, I’m biased. Let me just finish breakfast, and I’ll take you into the area of the house that is set aside for it. If we’re lucky, we can disappear in there before anyone else gets up.”

  Violetta swallowed the last of her coffee, and waited. A few minutes more, and Dash set his cup down too, then led her from the room. They went along the lower hallway, and through a door, which led to another long hall. Halfway along there, they turned up a narrow flight of stairs.

  “Just how much is here Dash, compared to at the Museum?”

  “About a third of it is here.”

  “That much?”

  “Well… there are a lot of pieces which are a bit too scandalous for most of the ton…”

  She laughed.

  “I should have realised. You have never done anything in a small way, have you Dash?”

  “Well…. No…. that would be dull…”

  They reached the top of the stairs, and he led her into the first room off the upper hallway. Glass fronted cases lined the walls, and Violetta went forward to study their contents.

  “Dash… tell me about your friendship with Kit… please?”

  There was a silence, and she wondered if her question went too far, if he would refuse to answer. But, after a few minutes, he began to speak.

  “I met him in Italy. He’d been there a few years by then, I think. It was after I had visited you, and Caldicot – I had gone south, a long way, wanting to see a different part of the country. I chose to stay in one of those ancient hill towns, which had what had once been a castle, and had now been turned into a superior kind of Inn, catering to the noble young men who were doing the Grand Tour. He was staying there too – but I didn’t know that when I met him. We literally ran into each other in a tiny cramped bookshop in the town below the Inn. We felt an immediate kind of kinship. For a few months, we travelled together, and talked of life, and England and more. But he never mentioned you, or love, or anything about family, beyond who he was.”

  “And how did you judge his character to be?”

  Dash met her eyes. She waited.

  “Far more honourable than most men I’ve ever met. He had a reserve about him, which he masked with that genial smile, and he approached everyone with courtesy, no matter who they were, or what role they held in society. And unlike most of the Englishmen who travelled, he never, to my knowledge, sought pleasure in the arms of the local beauties.”

  Violetta turned her eyes away from Dash, and stared unseeing at the carved erotic devices before her. If Kit had never sought pleasure with a woman while travelling… what did that say? What did that mean about his feelings? Could it have possibly been because he’d still loved her?

  “So… you would not judge him a man who would use a woman, and abandon her?”

  “No, never. I cannot imagine such a thing of him. He was scathing in his condemnation of those who scattered their seed indiscriminately – just as scathing as he was of women who toyed with a man, then married someone who could give them more wealth or status.”

  Those words hurt, now that Violetta knew what Kit had believed of her - at least as indicated by his words to her at the Inn. She swallowed the urge to tears. The past was the past – she could not change it, but at least she could seek to understand it.

  “Do you know anything of what his father was like?”

  “Not much, beyond the fact that he was a wastrel, like his father before him. And that Chris did not, at all, get on with him. Something had happened, which he never told me about, to put them eternally at odds. The same something which I surmised had sent Chris away from England.”

  “And… when would that have been?”

  “From what he told me, I would place it at very close in time to your marriage.”

  Violetta turned away, watching the pale winter sunlight where it illuminated the cases on the other side of the room. Was it possible that Kit’s father had done something unforgiveable, even as hers had done?

  She needed to find the answer to that question. More and more, she was beginning to suspect that they had, indeed, both been betrayed – just not by each other.

  *****

  Longwood Peak had a ballroom which, in the earliest days of the building, had been the great hall in a medi
eval keep. Over centuries, the additions to the house had swallowed the original, putting a more elegant, gentler façade on what had become a stately home. But the original huge fireplace of that hall had been maintained, a feature of one end of the now ballroom. Each Christmas, it had become tradition for the foresters of the estate to bring in a huge log, for the Yule Log, which filled that entire cavernous hearth.

  It still wanted two days to Christmas, but the log was hauled in, for the day was clear and bright, with neither rain nor snow. It would be lit on Christmas Eve, as was traditional, but until then, it would lie there, a reminder of what was to come. Kit watched the eight men carry it across the room, careful not to damage the parquet flooring as they did. He had just come down after his morning of thinking in his rooms, and had joined the other guests to watch.

  It made him, for the first time, begin to feel just a little festive.

  He looked around the room, taking note of the swathes of fabric, the knots of ribbon, and the boughs of pine and holly. There was even, over each doorway, he now realised, a ribbon bound ball of mistletoe. That brought a smile to his lips – what a perfect excuse to get close to Violetta – close enough to arrange to meet her alone, later.

  And he very much needed to do that – not just to kiss her and more, but to tell her what he had remembered, this morning. She was over on the other side of the room, standing with Dash and Mariel, her face bright. She looked almost happy – far more so than she had in the days since she had fallen in through the door of that Inn.

  Once, he had been the one to make her happy, like that. Now, he was beginning to hope that he might do so again.

  She turned at that moment, and saw him. The smile did not dim, and his heart beat faster for seeing that. Without conscious intent, he found himself moving towards her, crossing the large room swiftly. When he reached her, he stopped, feeling oddly unsure for a moment, then his habit of geniality and social manners reasserted itself, and he gave her a slight bow.

  “And how are you this fine day, Violetta?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips curling with amusement.

  “So formal Kit? If you must, then. I slept rather well, with pleasant dreams… an echo of… recent experiences…”

  He considered that answer, feeling the heat of desire rise within him.

  “If an experience causes pleasant dreams, then I do believe that one should repeat it. Would you not agree?”

  “I would indeed.”

  At that moment, there was a general movement to leave the room, and return to the main parlour, for a footman had come to announce that tea was served. He offered her his arm, and moved slowly, so that everyone else had left the room by the time that they reached the door. In the doorway, he stopped, and spun Violetta into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, and he lifted one hand to point upwards. The mistletoe ball hung directly above them.

  She laughed, and turned her face up for his kiss.

  He took his time about it, enjoying the moment, then lifted his head. Very softly, he offered the invitation he had hoped to deliver.

  “Will you come to me, very late? There is something I wish to tell you, something I have remembered…”

  Her blue violet eyes went wide, and she gave a small nod.

  “Had you not asked me first, I would have requested the same of you – for I also have things to tell you, and ask you.”

  “Then we are agreed.”

  He offered his arm again, and escorted her to the parlour, where, reluctantly, he released her. The depths of night could not come soon enough.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The day had passed in cheerful conversation, some parlour games and singing, and a general sense of the goodwill of the Christmas season. But Violetta had been distracted for every moment of it, acutely aware of Kit, and unable to stop herself speculating on what it was that he might have remembered, which was important enough for him to want to tell her.

  By dinner, the anticipation was almost unbearable. They were not seated together, so she was constrained to ordinary conversation – conversation which was quite entertaining, if she was to be honest, but which did not assuage her curiosity one whit. After dinner, she watched anxiously as people, one by one, or in couples, eventually chose to go up to bed.

  Kit was amongst the last to leave the parlour, and he met her eyes before he left the room. His gaze was full of heat, and the wicked grin he gave her as he sketched a bow was enough to make her feel flushed, and full of desire. Perhaps the most difficult part of the night to come would be managing to actually talk, rather than just falling into bed.

  She sat by the dying fire for a while longer, then went up. The halls around her were quiet, and once she reached her rooms, Amalie was glad to simply help Violetta into her night rail and a warm wrap, then seek her own bed, upstairs in the servants’ quarters.

  Curled in the chair by the fire, Violetta tried to read, but could not concentrate. After a short while, she abandoned that endeavour, set the book aside, and went to the door. The hallway outside was empty – not even a footman in sight. She stepped out, and hurried along the carpeted floor, her slippered feet silent, the hem of her wrap brushing the floor the only sound as she moved. She knew which door was his – she had not been able to stop herself from watching, every time that she had seen him in the hallways, until she was certain of which room he had been allocated.

  Now, as she tapped on that door, an odd nervousness filled her. What might they be about to discover, about what had happened, so long ago? And would it be enough to release them both, completely, from the bitterness and mistrust which had filled them for ten long years?

  The door opened. She stepped inside, heart beating hard, her breathing suddenly uneven. He studied her for mere seconds, his eyes widening slightly as he took in her state of undress, then closed the door after her, and turned, sweeping her into his arms. The kiss was passionate, intense, and Violetta gave herself to it completely. After some time, they drew apart, and he took a deep breath.

  “Much though I would love to simply keep kissing you, to lead you to the bed, and indulge every sinful desire I have ever had, I really do want to talk about the past, first.”

  “So do I.”

  They went to the couch which was set to one side of the fireplace, and sat. Kit slipped his arm around her, and Violetta leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, but tilted back, so that she could see his face.

  “Let me tell you what I have remembered, and what I suspect, based on that, and other things.”

  “Please do – then I will tell you what I have remembered.”

  “First, though, I must ask you some very direct questions. Vee, you told me that your father forced you to marry Caldicot – but did he enforce his will on you with more than words? Did your father handle you violently?”

  Violetta felt her heart ache – had he not realised the truth then, all those years ago? She’d thought that he knew, even though she’d never told him in so many words.

  “He did. And Mother before me. I tried, I tried so hard, from when Mother died, to be good - his idea of good – so that he would not beat me. I mostly succeeded. And then I met you. I suppose that it was inevitable that he would discover what we did, but I had hoped that we might have run away by then.”

  Kit raised his hand and cupped her cheek, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

  “Oh Vee, I wish that you had told me, back then. Had I known, I would have done my best to carry you off far sooner than the way that we planned it. I… I know that he disapproved of me, but I did not think that he would punish you for having received my attention, for my having called upon you…”

  “He didn’t – not at first, although he threatened. It was only when he began to suspect, and then, that dreadful night, became certain…”

  “Certain? Vee… were you carrying my child? I had not thought of such a thing, all these years, but as I began to review everything, in the last few days, I wondered…”<
br />
  She felt the tears fill her eyes, and looked down for a moment, tucking herself harder against him. With a shuddering breath, she made herself say the words – the words he should have heard, ten years earlier.

  “Yes. Oh Kit, I’m so sorry! I should have told you – I would have told you. I had only just realised the truth of it, that day when we were to leave for Gretna. I was young, and ignorant in some ways. When I did realise, I was not worried, for we were to marry, after all. But then… you did not come. I waited for hours in the dark, until despair filled me, and I went back into the house, intending to be back in my room before Father woke. But he was already awake. He was waiting for me. He knew, Kit – he had watched my mother when she was with child so many times – children she mostly lost because of what he did to her – and he knew the signs before I did. He beat me then, until I curled on the floor in pain. Then he stood above me and declared that ‘he’d made sure that I’d never get the chance to run away with that profligate’s son now’. I didn’t understand what he meant. But he locked me in my room after that, and didn’t let me out again until Caldicot was there to marry me.”

  He regarded her with those green-gold eyes, expressions flickering across his face in rapid succession.

  “I suspect that I do understand, now, what he meant. But Vee, the child…?”

  “I lost the child Kit, some weeks later, after pain and intermittent bleeding, which started after he beat me.”

  She felt the tears escape her control, and trickle down her cheeks.

  He kissed them away.

  “Vee, I am so sorry that I was not there. But… might there not be other children? To help assuage that hurt?”

  A sob tore from her throat. This was the worst part to speak of, and the part, she realised in a moment of devastating insight, which might yet destroy any hope of their future – for he was a Duke, and Dukes needed heirs…

  “Kit… for near eight years, William bedded me, until he became too ill to do so. Never once did I quicken with child. I… I think that what Father did, that losing your child, broke me, somehow, inside. I am near certain that I am barren, Kit, that there can never be a child for me.”