A Seduction at Christmas

by Cathy Maxwell

  Meanwhile, the duke was all a solicitous host should be. He treated her like an honored guest.

  “I’m famished,” he announced. “Let us eat and then you may go to your room while I have a talk with Lord Belkins. I want to hear his story.”

  “I’m anxious to hear it, too,” she said.

  “Yes, but he’ll talk more freely if we are alone.”

  “Or you’ll make him talk,” she said.

  His response was a nod of agreement. He led her down a hall lined with landscape paintings and portraits to a cozy dining room overlooking the back garden. A sideboard was set up with silver covered dishes. Two footmen stood at attention, waiting to see to his every slightest need.

  “Cider, Your Grace?” one of them asked. “Cook mulled it to take the chill off the day.”

  “At last something decent to drink,” Holburn said with feeling. “Fee? Cider? Or perhaps you would prefer chocolate. Williams is a genius at making a pot of chocolate.”

  Fiona’s uneasiness vanished. It had been years since she’d had chocolate. “I would appreciate a cup of chocolate.”

  Williams set right to work while Holburn turned to the other footman, “Larson, see to the dog. His name is Tad and he’s my favorite friend right now. Perhaps Cook has a steak for him.”

  “I shall see, Your Grace.”

  “Go with him, Tad,” the duke said and to Fiona’s surprise that’s exactly what Tad did.

  The duke watched the servant and dog leave the room before saying to her, “It’s so handy to have a dog who speaks English. My mother’s dog answers only to gibberish.”

  Williams swallowed a laugh, certainly unacceptable behavior for a footman, but Holburn didn’t mind and a bit more of Fiona’s uncertainty lifted. Her father had always said you could judge a man by the way he treated his servants.

  There was an easiness between the duke and his servants. They knew who he was. She’d witnessed no disrespect. But it was also clear they liked him.

  Holburn lifted the covers over the serving plates on a sideboard. Rich, fragrant aromas reached out and drew her to them.

  The duke handed her a plate, but leaned close to say in mock, “Oh look, Fee. Cook forgot to serve your favorite—porridge.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile from his gibe, or cast a glance at Williams who was warming milk in a silver pot over a flame. If the footman overheard, he was too well trained to betray personal thoughts.

  Holburn started heaping on her plate everything he put on his own. “That’s plenty, Your Grace,” she demurred as he reached for a second rasher of bacon for her. She took her seat at the round linen-covered table. Williams set her chocolate by her plate.

  Outside the window, she noticed Larson leading Tad out into the garden. The wolfhound stood stock-still for a second and then greedily investigated every inch of ground, paying special attention along the garden’s brick wall.

  Sitting beside her at the table, the duke said, “What do you see?”

  “Tad,” she said. “That dog used to run for miles when we lived in Scotland. He hasn’t had a good run in almost a year.”

  As if giving truth to her words, Tad began running in a huge circle as if chasing a demon, his dog smile growing wider until his tongue was hanging out and his eyes bright with happiness.

  Both Fiona and the duke laughed before turning their attention to their own plates. Fiona was hungry, but her first act was to take a sip of chocolate. She released a sigh of pleasure. “You are very good at chocolate, Williams.”

  Williams bowed, acknowledging the compliment.

  “You appear almost as happy as Tad,” Holburn said.

  “I am,” Fiona replied over the brim of her chocolate and took another sip. “There is a happy atmosphere in this house,” she said. It belied all the rumors she’d heard of Holburn.

  “Williams, make Miss Lachlan another pot of chocolate. This is the most content I’ve ever seen her.”

  Fiona laughed, surprising herself at how carefree the sound was. How long since she’d felt this relaxed? Or had good food in front of her?

  Holburn watched her with a bemused expression. “I can’t remember the last time I heard someone laugh under this roof. Certainly I’ve never done it—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of a small dog barking and the click of heels coming down the tiled hallway.

  Holburn and the servants tensed. Fiona turned to the door, uncertain of what to expect.

  A beat later, a tall, regal, blond woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed all in black from her laces to the stones in her rings that she wore on almost every finger. She carried a skinny, brown pointed-nosed dachshund who was yipping as if expressing his displeasure with the world.

  “Dominic, I am so glad you are here,” she said waving a black handkerchief in her free hand at him. “Such tragic news! Who would have thought it? He was so young to die! Why I only saw him two weeks ago.”

  “Saw who, Mother?” the duke said. He stood as she entered. Fiona did also.

  But the duchess’s attention wandered to the sideboard. “Oh, Williams, fix a plate for Master Rockford. He’s starved. Can’t you hear him?” She pinched the dog’s nose. He snarled and shook his head before yipping again. “I’ll take a plate, too.”

  Fiona’s gaze went from mother to son and back again. He was dark and she fair, but they had the same clear, blue eyes.

  In her youth, the dowager duchess must have been an acclaimed beauty. Even now, she would turn male heads. But Fiona sensed a calculating mind behind his mother’s blue eyes. It was there in her overstated mourning dress and her dry eyes.

  Or perhaps it is something that one woman can sense in another, and men never understand.

  Whatever it was, Fiona didn’t trust the duchess.

  “Mother, who died?” Holburn asked again.

  “Terrible story,” the duchess said, throwing herself into the chair Williams held out for her. Master Rockford sat up in her lap, one paw on the table as if demanding his breakfast. His beady eyes took in everything with the air of a bored debutante. “Louise’s note begged me come to her side as quickly as possible. Poor woman. It’s so tragic to lose a husband, but a son, too—”

  Her attention landed on Fiona. Both duchess and dog gave her the same beady stare. “Who are you?” the duchess asked. “Holburn, who is this riffraff sitting at my table?”

  Fiona was stunned by her rudeness.

  To his credit, the duke was equally insulted.

  “Mind your tongue, Mother,” he warned under his breath. “This is Miss Fiona Lachlan. Fee, this is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Holburn.”

  The dowager made a little sniffing sound before saying, “Miss Lachlan.”

  Fiona bobbed a quick curtsy, but she’d caught the secret smile that had crossed the dowager’s lips, and it spoke louder than words to Her Grace’s character. Here was a woman who dealt in small duplicities. She would try manipulation first to achieve what she wanted.

  Meeting her explained a great deal about Holburn’s attitude toward the world. It was to his credit he didn’t allow her to run roughshod over him.

  And Fiona knew the best way to deal with this sort of woman who feigned innocence while delivering insults was to be gracious and generous. It was a trick her mother had taught her.

  “Please, Your Grace,” she said. “I’m certain it is a surprise for Her Grace to discover you have a guest. Especially when she is mourning the loss of a friend.”

  The dowager turned her head and gave Fiona a hard, clear-eyed stare. Fiona returned her gaze with a level one of her own, all the time keeping a smile on her face.

  After all, that was what “riffraff” did.

  “Yes, well, thank you for understanding,” his mother said to Fiona at last. She didn’t apologize for her comment, but broke off a bit of sausage and hand-fed it to Master Rockford. Fiona knew she was considering ways to remove her from the house.

  “Mother,” Holburn said, his patien
ce at an end, “who died?”

  “You are very testy this morning,” she complained. “But since you should know, it is Lord Belkins. You did know him, didn’t you? They found his body in the park.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Belkins is dead?” Holburn repeated.

  Fiona felt the food she’d eaten churn in her stomach. She sank into her chair. The duke came behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, giving them a small squeeze. She knew he was reminding her to be brave. However, the movement was not lost on his mother.

  Her eyes turned to shards of blue. “Didn’t I just say as much?”

  “Mother, this is a shock,” he said.

  “I’m shocked as well,” she told him.

  “I saw Belkins yesterday at my club,” he continued. “He was hale and hearty. How did he die?”

  “I don’t know,” his mother answered. “It’s not even in the papers yet. His mother Louise and I have been friends for years. I had a note from her two hours ago saying her son had been found dead in the park and begging me to come around. Poor Louise. Belkins was her favorite since he was the heir. She lived under his roof. I don’t know what will become of her now. His brother will inherit and she doesn’t know what that means. I’m so fortunate, Holburn, that you have made provisions for me in case of your demise. I would hate for my fate to be left to Brandt and Maven. I don’t see how my husband could have such disagreeable brothers.” She gave Master Rockford another bite of sausage. “Why, they would turn me out into the street, and then what would poor Rocky and I do?” She kissed the dog as he was licking his snout.

  “My uncles wouldn’t turn you out, Mother,” Holburn answered. “They might make your life miserable, but you wouldn’t be on the street.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” she said. “They’ve never liked me. They’d plotted against me for years.”

  “Well, you no longer need to worry,” he said as if they’d had this conversation before. “You’ll have a very healthy independence upon my death. They can’t touch that money.”

  Her Grace held out her hand to him across the table, the gesture coming off disingenuous to Fiona. It must have struck him the same because he didn’t make a move toward her. The dowager pulled her hand back, her lips pursing into a pout. “Such a good son,” she cooed. “His only weakness is women.”

  The air crackled with Holburn’s temper. “I’m not weak around women.”

  “No, they are weak around you,” his mother said agreeably. “Aren’t they, Miss Lachlan?”

  Fiona did not want to be dragged into this. The woman was impossible.

  The duke looked at Williams. “Leave us, and take that damn dog.”

  “He stays with me,” the dowager said but the footman had his orders. He slipped Master Rockford out of her arms and carried him out.

  Holburn stood, leaning on one hand across the table to confront his mother. “Miss Lachlan is a guest,” he said, his voice in tight control. “For the period that she is under my roof, she will be my ward—”

  “Ward?” his mother queried. She fussed with the black lace around her neckline. “Wait until Brandt and Maven hear this. They will roar their disapproval.”

  “They can howl at the full moon for all I care,” Holburn returned evenly. “What I won’t tolerate is any disrespect shown to Miss Lachlan.”

  There was an edge to his voice that brooked no disrespect.

  His mother eyed him mutinously and then said, “Oh, very well. Do as you wish. You always do anyway. I’m still miffed at you for advancing my allowance.”

  The duke’s expression grew stony. “We’ve been over this.”

  “I’m still not happy.”

  “You rarely are,” his son said.

  “Am I to have no say about my life?” she said, coming to her feet. “Look at her. Her dress is atrocious and that hair would suit a witch—”

  “Enough,” he said. Fiona wished she could hide under the table.

  The dowager raised a hand. “You are right. I am too blunt in my opinions, although it is a trait we both share, my son.”

  Every time she said, “my son,” a chill went up Fiona’s spine. She wondered if the duke felt the same way.

  “If you want your ward, you may have her.” She picked up her black handkerchief. “I must be going. Louise is waiting. We were so close at one time, Louise and I. All I need is Master Rockford and I’ll go. You and Miss Lachlan may be alone—”

  At that moment, there was a din of dog barking coming from the butler’s pantry. The dowager reached the door first and threw it open. Master Rockford streaked into the room, a brown blur of running feet. She swept him up into the safety of her arms.

  The footmen followed. They held Tad by a rope line. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Larson said. “Master Rockford wanted the wolfhound’s steak.”

  “And that huge dog attacked him?” the dowager said shrilly.

  “No, Your Grace,” Larson said, “Master Rockford attacked old Tad here. Went right after him as if he thought they were the same size.” Larson sounded dutifully respectful, but Williams was having a hard time keeping his humor in check.

  “Of course he would. Rocky is not a coward,” the dowager replied, soothing her shaking dog.

  Larson looked to the duke. “Tad really did try and keep his temper,” he said. “But when Master Rockford sank his teeth into his steak, the wolfhound had enough. He put one paw on Master Rockford and continued eating. That was what the barking was about. Master Rockford was upset.”

  “As well he should be,” the dowager declared. “Dominic, I want that monstrous dog gone by the time I return today.” She didn’t wait for an answer but went charging out of the room.

  Fiona was mortified. Nor was she going to let Tad leave without her. They would go together.

  “I know what you are thinking, Fee,” Holburn said, “and don’t worry. Tad isn’t leaving. My mother makes pronouncements like this all the time. The house is large enough for both dogs to live peacefully, and they probably will if she stays out of it.”

  His words were exactly what she wanted to hear. Over breakfast, she had adjusted to the idea of staying here, even if it was only for a day or two. “I’m sorry Tad upset Master Rockford.”

  “I’m not,” the duke said. “Rocky has needed a comeuppance for a while, hasn’t he, lads?”

  The footmen nodded. They were openly grinning now. Williams scratched Tad’s neck.

  The duke held out his arm. “Come, Fee, let me show you to your room. Are you coming, Tad?” The wolfhound joined them.

  Once they were out in the hallway, he murmured, “What were you saying about a happy atmosphere?”

  “I stand corrected,” she confessed. “Is she always like that?”

  His expression grew troubled. He didn’t answer right away but waited until they’d reached the top of the stairs. It was clear they were alone here. The servants were off doing other things.

  “Yes, she is always like that,” he said in answer to her earlier questions.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and meant the words.

  He shrugged. “It’s just her silliness. Mother doesn’t feel she fits in. She always has believed the ton frowned on her, and she’s right. They have. She was a lovely opera dancer who captured the heart of a duke. My father wasn’t a practical man like his brothers.”

  “Is that the Brandt and Maven she referred to?”

  Holburn nodded. “Lord Brandt and Lord Maven, my illustrious uncles. She’s right to dislike them.”

  “They have been cruel to her?”

  “Not cruel—disapproving. They disapprove of everyone who doesn’t fit their rigid set of expectations. They earned their own titles through service and money in the right places but they have little consideration for mother, who earned her title using the oldest method of all—love.”

  “So she and your father were a love match?” Fiona asked, anxious to find something good about the dowager.

  “On h
is part,” the duke said. “Mother is so mercurial, she feels one thing today and another tomorrow.”

  “It must be hard to have a woman like that in your life.”

  Holburn gave a quick shrug. “I understand her. She always attends to her own welfare. I see her when she wants something or, like downstairs, when we happen to meet. Otherwise, we stay out of each other’s way. You won’t need to worry about her. Come,” he said, changing the subject. “Let me take you to your room.”

  Fiona had other questions she could have asked, but she knew when the subject was done.

  Nick led Fee down the hall to the room he’d directed for her use. Tad followed.

  “I’m going to Belkins’s house to pay my respects and see if I can learn something about his whereabouts last evening,” he told her. He stepped back and let her enter the bedroom first.

  She took two steps in and then stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath came out in a soft sound of appreciation. “This is lovely.”

  Nick thought she was lovely. He no longer saw the crumpled clothes or the mussed hair. Instead, her spirit seemed to glow around her. He had to pull his gaze away to look around the room and see it as she did.

  Soft yellow walls, India carpets, cream-colored furniture with blue bed clothes. It looked the same as the other rooms in his home, except now he was seeing it through her eyes—and felt a twinge of pride as she walked around, her eyes admiring everything. Tad went straight to the fire in the grate and flopped down.

  Nick was especially pleased that the servants had placed a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table.

  Fee saw those immediately. “Roses?” She turned to him. “How can you have roses in winter?”

  “There’s a hothouse in the back. The gardener prides himself on his flowers.” Nick had never paid particular attention to the flowers before. It had been another of his father’s lavish fancies.

  But right now, watching Fee touch the velvety petals in wonder, seeing her lean down to smell them, he thought it the best thing his father had ever done.