A Seduction at Christmas

by Cathy Maxwell

  Gillian looked at Fiona, her expression thoughtful. “I haven’t seen him so happy and relaxed in years. And he usually doesn’t make an appearance here until Christmas Day.”

  “We had a good ride,” Fiona answered.

  “No, it’s you,” Gillian said. “He likes you.”

  Fiona felt a tug of happiness in her heart, but she had to be practical. “He is a kind man.”

  “No one has ever said that about Holburn,” Gillian retorted. “I’ve heard him described as ruthless and more often than not, arrogant.” She shook her head considering the matter. “But never ‘kind.’ May I call you Fiona?”

  “Of course.”

  Gillian smiled and moved toward the door. “I fear, Fiona, that you are either blind to Holburn’s faults or in need of a rest.” At the door, she paused and looked back at Fiona. “Dinner is early. Your maid will know the details.” She opened the door. “I’m glad you are here. I think you are good for my cousin.”

  “We’ve only just met,” Fiona confessed.

  “Sometimes that’s best,” Gillian answered. “Sometimes people just know when they should be together.”

  “Did you ‘know’ with your husband?”

  Gillian’s smile tightened around the edges. “You are blunt.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean offense—”

  “I’m not offended. Shocked, perhaps. Few are as plain-spoken as myself. It’s rather refreshing, and a bit disconcerting. The one thing I know—you are perfect for Holburn.”

  Fiona shook her head, yearning for Gillian’s words to be true and yet too pragmatic to believe them. “He’s above my touch,” she said.

  “Let him be the judge of that,” Gillian answered softly and left the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  Holburn did have a good singing voice. It was a strong baritone that resonated in Fiona’s soul.

  After dinner that evening, he and Gillian sang a sad, poignant duet of “Barbara Allen” and then followed it up with a joyous rendition of “The Saucy Sailor.” Holburn threw in so much enthusiasm and eyebrow waggles that everyone in the room was laughing to the point of tears.

  Fiona and the duke hadn’t been the first to arrive for the family Christmas celebration. Besides Aunt Agatha, two other sets of relatives were already in their rooms and accepted Fiona amongst their numbers without question.

  By the end of the first evening, she was relaxed and enjoying herself.

  Holburn was a generous host and obviously well-liked. “Much more so than his uncles,” Gillian confided.

  “Why is that?” Fiona asked.

  “Lords Maven and Brandt put on airs as much as Daisy the Duchess does but in a different manner,” Gillian answered and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have called her that,” she confessed, the laughter in her eyes removing any apology from her words. She leaned closer to Fiona. “It isn’t a secret that Holburn’s mother is a bit high strung. We all avoid her, and that little dog of hers. Master Rockford barks at everything, especially my cat.”

  Gillian’s white long-haired cat was peacefully curled on a pillow in front of the fire. Tad lay beside him, his nose almost touching the pillow, his eyes boring holes into Kitty as if waiting for a moment to pounce—but he had enough good sense to stay where he was. Everyone marveled at Kitty’s nerves. The cat seemed truly unaffected by Tad’s attention, although Fiona had been told by several people the cat detested Master Rockford and had chased him with her claws on more than one occasion.

  “The uncles are reserved,” Gillian said, picking up her original thought. “They fancy themselves more ducal than Holburn. If something happens to him, Brandt is next in line for the title. We all pray Holburn remains alive and happy. Brandt would ship me off to my husband without any regret.”

  “Would it be so terrible to return to him?” Fiona dared to ask.

  “Yes,” Gillian said, her good humor vanishing. She tactfully changed the subject. “Oh, look, the children are going to sing. I’m thrilled you have no musical talent,” she offered as an aside.

  “My mother wasn’t,” Fiona answered and Gillian laughed, at ease again.

  After a delightful evening, Holburn made a point of leaving the room with Fiona and escorting her upstairs. Fiona could feel the speculation amongst the relatives as she left the room.

  On the way upstairs, she said, “They believe we are involved. They don’t think I’m a ‘ward.’”

  “They have suspicious minds.” His response betrayed no emotion, and her pride wouldn’t let her question him.

  Perhaps she was nothing more than a temporary ward, someone he was protecting from coming to harm because of her association with him.

  But she wanted there to be something more.

  At her bedroom door, she braced herself, hoping for some sign of his intentions. It seemed like forever since they’d been in that room in the Swan and shared hungry, greedy kisses. She could almost believe she’d imagined them.

  To her disappointment, Holburn behaved the perfect gentleman. He left her at the door with a kind “good night.”

  Fiona watched him walk to his set of rooms located down the hall from hers, wondering about his return of her affections. Or had he lost interest?

  At his door, he paused, turned to her.

  The look he sent her was so heated, it was better than a kiss.

  She opened her door and escaped inside, almost overcome with her good fortune. He treated her as if they were courting—

  Fiona broke off her thoughts. She couldn’t let herself think in this direction.

  In spite of having been the daughter of a once-respected magistrate, she wasn’t worthy to be any man’s wife, let alone a duke’s. No matter how attracted she was to Holburn, she had to remember her place and help him keep in mind of it, too.

  Fiona had come to respect him. To admire him. To enjoy his company. They were compatible. They shared the same values—and that’s why she knew he deserved someone better than herself.

  He needed a woman who was whole and pure and could give him children untainted by disgrace. He needed a woman with social connections and money.

  Fiona was no longer any of these things…

  If she loved him, and she did—then she mustn’t let a relationship between them go further. In this respect, she agreed with his mother. It was for his own protection.

  However, the next morning when her maid Sarah woke her with the message that the duke wished to know if she would join him for a morning ride, Fiona did not say no.

  And that evening, she let Holburn walk her to her bedroom door.

  He didn’t so much as take her hand but he lingered, leaning his shoulder against the wall. Laughter and music drifted up from the stairs where the late night set still enjoyed themselves. They stood in the hallway teasing and flirting with each other. He treated her with the respect expected of one borne to her station in life—and she loved him all the more for it.

  They rode again the next morning. She was beginning to know the grooms by name and they all greeted her cheerfully. They did not question Holburn’s precaution of having an armed groom accompany them. He also informed her privately that he had men patrol the estate but no one had seen hide nor hair of the Irishmen or any other strangers.

  Fiona prayed they were long gone…although she was in no hurry to return to her former life. Huntleigh was a heaven on earth. She enjoyed being surrounded by family and everyone she met from the scullery maid to the butler was happy.

  She complimented Gillian about it that evening, assuming much of the attitude in the house was her doing.

  “Oh, no,” she said, looking up from her embroidery. “Everyone is always this way when Holburn’s in residence. The servants adore him and they should. They were the ones who raised him.” She’d leaned closer to confide, “They like you, too. My maid Molly told me so. They think you are good for him.”

  “They can’t think that?” Fiona blurted out, not modulating her voic
e in her surprise.

  Several heads were raised from the games they were playing or conversations being held. The family, a number growing by new arrivals every day, gathered in different seating arrangements around the oversized sitting room every evening. A rush of heat burned Fiona’s cheeks.

  She glanced at Holburn to see if he’d overheard. He sat in an upholstered chair by the fire with two of his youngest cousins, a three-year-old boy and five-year-old girl, in his lap. They were playing that he was going to bite off their noses and they laughingly alternated between pretending to hide and daring him to do so.

  Sensing she was looking at him, he raised his gaze to meet hers over the head of the youngsters and smiled in that way that made her happily dizzy.

  “Because of that,” Gillian whispered in her ear. “We’ve all noticed how he looks at you, and how you return that look. But there is more. His manner has changed. Before he’d make an appearance at Huntleigh for Christmas but was always in a rush, always preoccupied as if he needed to be someplace else. Usually around those cursed gaming tables. This year, he doesn’t seem to have a desire to be anywhere else but here. And he’s at peace. I hadn’t realized how unhappy he must have been until I saw him in this light.”

  “It can’t be me,” Fiona said in complete honesty.

  Gillian touched her arm as if she’d been teasing. “You can’t be so naïve, Fiona.”

  “I’m trying to be cautious—”

  “Don’t be,” Gillian ordered. “Throw caution aside. Holburn likes you, and that is a gift. My husband is the sort of man every mother wants for her daughter, except he never liked me very much. I’m not certain he even knows I am a person with feelings and intelligence. In truth, I’m jealous that the two of you enjoy each other’s company.”

  Her attention was claimed by one of the children, who wanted help with a sampler she was making. Fiona sat beside them, pretending to be interested in a fashion magazine. Anyone seeing her would have thought her serenely calm, except that wasn’t true.

  For the first time since her parents’ deaths, happiness bubbled inside her.

  Her mother would have been proud. They’d shared so many hopeful conversations for Fiona’s future, dreams that had been abandoned after the soldiers’ attack.

  But now, Fiona wondered if her mother wasn’t her guardian angel? Could she guide Holburn to her?

  What if she confessed her humiliation at the hands of the soldiers to Holburn? What if she allowed the duke to decide if she was suitable instead of making the decision for him? Gillian’s words gave her courage.

  She toyed with the idea of speaking to him this very night when he walked her to her room. She prayed she didn’t lose her courage.

  In the end, Fate made the decision. When it came time to excuse themselves, a great uncle, Lord Morris, and his very young wife went upstairs with them leaving no opportunity for a confidence of any sort.

  So it was that the next morning, Fiona was especially looking forward to their ride. The groom would be following but Fiona thought she might manage a moment of privacy.

  Fiona took extra care with her appearance, ignoring both morning chocolate and the knot of anxiety in her stomach. In the back of her mind was the fear he could reject her once he knew the full truth. She tried not to think on it.

  She and Holburn usually met by the back door to walk down to the stables together. However he wasn’t there this morning.

  A footman approached. “His Grace is in the front hall,” he informed her. “He asks you to join him. His uncles have arrived.”

  The infamous uncles…Fiona didn’t know if she was prepared to make their acquaintance and yet the footman waited to escort her to them. She gathered the hem of her riding habit over one arm and followed.

  The front hall was a flurry of activity. Servants carried trunks and bandboxes up the steps. The uncles, both dressed in somber black, were easy to identify. However, Fiona hadn’t anticipated they were also twins. No one had told her. Identical gray eyes turned to frown as she approached.

  A less bold woman would be shaking in her riding boots. Fiona was made of sterner stuff. She also had Holburn, who held out a welcoming hand, inviting her to join him.

  He drew her close, perhaps even too close. “Fee, this is Lord Maven and Lord Brandt, my father’s brothers. Uncles, this is Miss Fiona Lachlan of whom you may have heard.”

  Fiona bobbed a curtsey, conscious of the way the uncles’ eyebrows had shot up at Holburn’s use of his pet name for her. He’d been using it around the house from the first day and no one had appeared to care.

  But if the duke had noticed their reaction, he gave no indication. Instead he easily continued, “Miss Lachlan’s father was the well-known Scottish magistrate, Sir John Lachlan. Her mother was related to Marlborough. I believe they are second cousins. Isn’t that right, Fee?”

  Her mother and the Duke of Marlborough were actually third cousins but Fiona was too surprised that Holburn had this information to correct him. She nodded dumbly.

  “How interesting,” Lord Maven murmured.

  His lack of enthusiasm didn’t dampen Holburn’s spirits at all. If anything, he seemed happier. “And this,” he said, taking Fiona over to a tall brunette dressed in the same somber hues as their lordships, “is my aunt, Lady Brandt. Auntie,” Holburn said with enough cheekiness to make her frown deepen, “this is Miss Fiona Lachlan of Scotland and you heard all the rest. She is my special guest.”

  If he had announced he was marrying her within a hour, their reactions could not have been more surprised. It was the warmth in his voice that did it. Even Fiona was stunned at his blatant show of favor.

  At that moment, another traveler entered through the front door. He was close to Holburn in age although he was much taller, almost a giant. He had dark, deep-set eyes and strong features that went with his height.

  “And this,” the duke said, “is my cousin Mr. Richard Lynsted. Richard, this is Miss Fiona Lachlan.”

  Of the group in the hallway, Richard appeared the most untroubled by being introduced to Fiona. He made a bow before handing his hat to a footman. “Your servant.” He let a footman help him with his great coat.

  “Richard is Lord Brandt’s son,” Holburn said off-handedly. “We went to school together. We don’t rub along well.”

  His cousin made a face as if he’d heard this all before. “That isn’t entirely true, Holburn.”

  “Close enough?” the duke suggested. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Welcome to another Christmas at Huntleigh. I’ll allow you all to settle yourselves. Gillian and the housekeeper have seen to rooms. Fee and I are off for a ride.”

  He took Fiona’s hand and started for the back hall leading to the path toward the stables when Lord Brandt informed him, “Your mother will be along later this afternoon.”

  “Good,” Holburn said. “I look forward to seeing her.”

  “She is bringing a guest,” his wife chimed in. “Some soldier. Did you know?”

  Fiona frowned at the condescension in the woman’s tone.

  “I did know,” Holburn said easily. “Colonel Swanson, I believe. I invited him.”

  “I’m concerned, Your Grace,” Lady Brandt said, approaching him. “I’ve made inquiries. I fear your mother and this colonel might be paramours.”

  “And?” Holburn asked. “Is this our business?”

  “Everything involving the family is your business, Your Grace,” Lord Brandt said.

  “Then the matter is being handled,” Holburn said easily. “You needn’t worry.”

  “But I must,” Lord Brandt insisted. “For example, I have concerns about Miss Lachlan. You see, I, too, have made inquiries. I’m hoping she is your paramour because what I’ve learned makes her unsuited for anything else.”

  His cold pronouncement sucked the air out of the hallway. Fiona couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think in the face of the man’s charge.

  Holburn had no such problem. Whereas before he had been g
enial and good willed in the presence of his uncles, he now, in a blink, turned as aloof as themselves, with one notable exception—he actually was the duke. If anyone had any question, they had only to witness the change in his demeanor.

  His presence seemed to fill the hall. His voice was pleasant, and all the more threatening because of it as he said, “I know you didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Uncle.”

  Lady Brandt stepped forward, placing her hand on her husband’s elbow as if prompting him to respond. His cousin Richard had gone stock-still. Fiona sensed he wished he was anywhere but in this hallway at this moment.

  Surprisingly, he was the one of the family who found his voice first. “I’m certain my father didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “I did,” Lord Brandt cut in. He met Holburn’s eye. “I know what I said. Is it wrong to wish to prevent a mistake before it happens?”

  Holburn walked back to him. “You have insulted my guest,” he said, his voice so low, Fiona had to strain to hear it. The servants that had been in the hall had all been wise enough to fade into the background.

  “My question to you,” the duke continued, “is would you stake your life upon the charges against her good name that you are making?”

  Fiona feared her knees would buckle beneath her. She didn’t want them to duel over her…especially when Lord Brandt was right about her reputation. This was what came of keeping her silence.

  She opened her mouth to speak but at that moment, Lord Brandt said, “I forgot myself.” He made a deep bow in Fiona’s direction. “I beg you to forgive my lapse in manners, Miss Lachlan.”

  Holburn didn’t wait for her to respond but advised, “I would not make that error again.” He took Fiona’s arm and they left the hall.

  She waited until they were outside and on the path to the stables before saying, “How did you find out about my mother?”