“Wait, Justina.” Baxter jammed his foot in the door, wincing as the wood pinched his toes. “I can explain.”
She shook her head, her expression desolate. “Can you not be a duke?”
“What?” The question took him aback. “Of course not. But I care for you. Deeply.”
By God. He might very well love her. Did love her.
The truth of that epiphany struck him with such force, his breath and pulse stalled before resuming at an alarming pace. He loved Justina Farthington with her gorgeous eyes the color of Scotland. Each time he gazed into them was a homecoming.
“Then this is goodbye, Baxter.” A nascent smile, sad and fragile, curved her mouth. “I mean to convince my aunt to leave on the morrow, and I doubt we’ll ever see each other again.”
Chapter Eleven
Early the next morning, her head aching from lack of sleep and the tears she’d wept after a stricken Baxter had backed away, permitting her to close and lock her bedchamber door, Justina went in search of her aunt.
She knocked thrice upon Aunt Emily’s door and, after a long moment that stretched out into the corridor, received a groggy, “Who is it?” in response.
“It’s me, Aunt Emily. I need to speak to you before the others arise.”
After a bit of shuffling around inside, her aunt opened the door. “Come in, my dear.”
“Forgive me for waking you.”
Emily looked Justina over from head to toe. “You’ve looked better, I must say. Did you sleep at all?”
No.
“As I’m sure you can imagine, I found slumber elusive,” she admitted dully.
After yanking the bellpull, her aunt urged Justina into an armchair, then threw open the draperies. “I cannot stand drawn curtains when the sun is coming up. Light is healing, especially morning light.”
Justina managed a wan smile.
“Now what has you dragging me out of bed at...” Emily glanced at the bedside clock, her eyes going wide. “Merciful heavens,” she exclaimed. “At half-past six?”
Justina folded her hands and met her aunt’s eyes directly. “Can we go home this morning?”
“I take it you haven’t looked outside?”
Justina shook her head.
“Darling, it snowed heavily overnight. Even if I thought we should depart, we cannot.”
Despair gripped Justina, and then her aunt’s words caught her attention.
“You don’t think we should leave? Why not? Baxter lied to me, Aunt Emily. He’s a duke, and you and I both know there cannot be anything between us.”
Her aunt angled her head. “I’ll admit I was quite miffed with him last night, but upon further reflection, I believe you should give him the chance to explain himself.”
Justina’s mouth sagged and she blinked several time in confusion. “You…” She shook her head again. “I don’t understand.”
A brisk knock echoed at the door.
“Come in,” Aunt Emily called, securing the belt of her night robe at her trim waist.
“You rang, Mrs. Grenville?” A pretty maid with big blue eyes asked.
“Hot chocolate for my niece and I, please. And croissants and hot cross buns if they are available. The duchess always has the most delicious croissants.”
“Of course.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.
“Now, where were we?” Aunt Emily sat in the other armchair. “Ah, yes, his grace.” She chuckled as she put a forefinger to her chin. “I knew there was something about him I should recall. Remember when we first arrived at Bathhurst Hotel and Spa, and I said Bathhurst sounded familiar?”
Nodding, Justina strove to understand what her aunt was going on about.
Aunt Emily laughed again. “I remembered last night, and I must bear part of the blame for this situation. He attended the Duke of Westfall’s ball last spring.”
He had?
“I didn’t meet him, of course, for I surely would’ve have remembered him.” Her aunt cocked her head, her eyes slightly squinted. “I believe I overheard that unpleasant Lady Crustworth complaining to her crony, Lady Darumple, that a Scot should never be permitted to inherit an English title.”
“Be that as it may, Aunt Emily, that doesn’t change the fact that he wasn’t honest with me, he did not call as he’d promised to, and then there’s me.” She waved a hand toward her midriff. “I’m illegitimate. A nobody. Not duchess material.”
“Justina Madalene Honoria Farthington. I take great exception to that statement.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Emily. I meant no offense.”
Her aunt drew herself up, hurt etched upon her pretty face and shadowing her forest-green eyes. “I have taken extraordinary care to raise you in the manner of a most proper, gently-bred young woman. You are too duchess material. More so than most of the blue-blooded aristocrats I’ve met.”
Turning her attention toward the window, Justina sighed.
It was snowing again.
Of course, it was.
Was God determined she should always be stranded in the same house as Baxter?
“Justina, may I ask you something personal?”
She veered her focus to her aunt once more. “Of course.”
There’d never been secrets between them. Well, except for the reason behind Aunt Emily’s silence regarding her marriage.
“Do you love San Sebastian?” The words were soft and empathetic, and yes, probably very hard for her wary aunt to ask.
“I do. I truly do.” Swallowing, Justina battled the sudden swell of tears behind her eyelids. “So much so that I don’t know how I can face the future without him.”
Her aunt came to her then, and crouched before her, taking her hands in hers. “Darling, then tell him so. That man is in love with you. I’d wager everything I own upon it.”
Justina studied her face, unable to deny the sincerity stamped upon Aunt Emily’s features. “How can you, who won’t even talk about what happened in your marriage, advise me on love?”
Hurt flashed across her aunt's face before she schooled her features once more. After taking a deep breath, she met Justina’s gaze and clasped her hands tighter.
“I was in love. Very much so. Clement vowed he loved me too. We were married after a whirlwind courtship, and we were blissfully happy for two months.”
Justina longed to ask what happened, but forced herself to wait patiently. She instinctively knew there was no rushing the telling of this tale.
Going pale, Aunt Emily looked away and bit her lower lip. After a long pause, she continued, her words strained.
“But, you see, my dear, he was already married. His wife was in England with their three children. He received his new orders and began packing at once to leave. I assumed he’d send me home to England to await him. When I asked him what arrangements I should make, he finally told me the truth.” She managed a rueful, heartbreaking smile. “Oh, he swore he loved me, that his wife was a cold, unfeeling woman, but he had his children to consider, you see.”
“Oh, Aunt Emily.” The heartless, rotten bounder. To hurt her sweet aunt in such a heartless fashion. No wonder Emily had no interest in marrying again.
“He was killed shortly thereafter.” A sad nascent pulled her aunt’s mouth upward. “I never even told my brother the truth. I was too ashamed, and Richard was a stickler for propriety. I honestly feared he’d turn me out.”
With a bent knuckle, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
That made Justina rather grateful Richard Farthington was not her sire. Or if he was, as her grandfather had sworn he was, that Justina had never known him.
“But you dear, what you have with San Sebastian. It’s beautiful.” Emily gave a tiny, self-conscious laugh. “I confess, I was envious. I didn’t want to lose you, to be alone.”
“I would never leave you!” Justina exclaimed, throwing her arms around her aunt’s shoulders. “After all that you’ve done for me? How could you even think it?”
Aunt Emil
y gave her a tight hug in return and then a little shove. “Go, darling. Tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t know which room is his.” Giddiness tumbled around Justina’s middle.
Could she really do it?
Proclaim herself?
Could she trust this feeling that had taken control of her life?
“Three doors down from yours.”
Was her model-of-decorum aunt honestly telling her to visit a gentleman’s bedchamber?
“I do believe I shall,” Justina said, her courage growing with each word.
What had she to lose but the man she loved?
After kissing her aunt on the cheek, Justina hurried from the room, wishing she’d worn a different gown other than her slate gray and navy-blue traveling ensemble. She retraced her steps, this time her heart light and full of hope.
She would listen to what Baxter had to say. Hear what he’d wanted to tell her last night. She’d not throw away a chance for happiness because of her wounded pride.
A few moments later, she stood outside his chamber.
Ponies and puppies and all manner of creatures frolicked about her middle.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she knocked upon his door, one soft rap.
“Baxter?” She knocked again, a mite harder this time. “Are you awake?
He threw the door open at once. After poking his damp head out and searching up and down the corridor, he swiftly drew her inside.
“Is something amiss, Justina?”
He wore only a towel about his waist, as if he’d come straight from the bath.
She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to tell him she was sorry she’d been so mulish and hardheaded. To kiss the vast, tempting expanse of his sculpted flesh. To do much, much more, in truth.
Instead, she gawked rather indelicately.
But, God above, he was gorgeous.
It truly was a crime that the Almighty had fashioned such a perfect specimen of manhood, and all of that male beauty was hidden beneath clothing most of the time. And though she ought to have blushed as any properly bred young woman would’ve done, she couldn’t feign false modesty.
“Ah, no. Not precisely. Aunt Emily said I should speak with you.”
A sandy-brown brow arched in bemusement. “Your aunt advised you to seek me out?”
“Indeed.” Justina forced her attention from his exquisite physique, her focus landing upon the bathtub and the tendrils of steam floating upward.
“Oh, you’re bathing.” She angled toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, please stay.” Baxter turned her to face him. “What is it you wish to say?”
Her traitorous gaze crept to the damp mat on his chest, the shade slightly darker than his hair. The hair trailed downward, in a tempting, teasing vee until it disappeared into his towel.
Was there ever such a perfect muscled, sculpted masculine work of art?
Even the pinkish scars lashing his right shoulder and slicing across his ribcage didn’t detract from his male perfection.
Her mouth had gone unaccountably dry. Justina swallowed, hauling her attention back to his face with considerable effort.
A smoldering glint of appreciation shone in his eyes. Lion eyes. It suddenly dawned on her. That was what they were.
A sliver of uncertainty pierced her. “What did you want to say to me last night?”
“I’m sorrier than I can say, Justina, that I didn’t tell you I was a duke.” Baxter cupped her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes as if willing her to believe him. “Honestly, I’ve never liked the title, and in the five years since I inherited the dukedom, I’ve had women throwing themselves at me, wanting to be my duchess. I’ve chosen to not use the title except when in London or at gatherings where people already know who I am.”
“It wasn’t because I’m not nobly born?” She had to ask him, and at that moment she acknowledged she must tell him the shameful rest as well.
There would be no more secrets between them.
He drew her to him, caressing her back and dropping tender kisses upon her head. “Nae, lass.”
His burr wrapped itself around her, seductive and tantalizing, and she loved that he felt comfortable enough with her to speak Scots.
“I care nothin’ about yer birth. It’s ye I love. Ye with yer impossibly green eyes that remind me of my beloved Scotland. With yer hair, the rich color of molasses and yer red lips sweeter than any honey I’ve ever tasted.”
“You love me?” Awed, she traced her fingertips across his freshly shaven jaw. “Truly, Baxter?”
“Aye. My heart is full of ye, Justina. Since the moment I laid eyes on ye, my soul kent we were meant to be together. With ye, I am whole. Complete in a way I dinna feel when we are apart.”
“Why didn’t you come to Bristol?” Her voice broke. “I waited and waited.”
Her heart breaking more with each passing day.
She searched his dear face, adoring the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the sharp slice of his nose, his granite jaw. There was nothing soft about this man except for the expression in his eyes.
“Things were a tangle in Lancashire.” He tipped his mouth into a wry smile. “I had mechanical issues, rebellious workers, and sickness had gripped half of them as well. I should’ve asked for yer direction that night I came to yer bedchamber.”
As he spoke, he caressed her, teasing butterfly sweeps of his fingertips that stoked the fire already smoldering in her blood.
“I went to see ye within hours after returnin’ home, but yer servants wouldna tell me where ye’d gone.”
“I was angry and didn’t tell them where we were off to, only when we’d return. Though I didn’t believe you’d actually come.”
“I told ye once before, Justina Farthington. When I set my mind to somethin’, I willna be dissuaded.” He pressed his firm lips to her forehead, the gesture so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. “Marry me, Justina. By special license or we can elope to Scotland. Say ye’ll be my wife, my partner, and my helpmate.”
He hadn’t said duchess.
Because it didn’t matter?
Or because it did?
Justina leaned away, bracing herself for what she must tell him. “Baxter, there is something you need to know about me.”
“What is it?” He grinned, the smile holding the promises of a lifetime with him. “That ye’ve stolen my heart? Me, who didna believe I would ever fall in love? That ye like feedin’ the birds I rescued? That ye’re almost as fond of honey as I am?”
“No to all of those. Although, I do want to hear how you came to have so many birds, someday.” No sense in prevaricating about her history, however. “Baxter, I am a bastard. I may not even really be Emily’s niece.”
In short order, Justina told him an abbreviated account of her birth and coming to England.
For a pregnant moment afterward, he was totally silent, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head and quirked his mouth into a sideways smile.
“I dinna think I’ve ever met a woman as unselfish as yer aunt,” he said. “If ye like, she will always have a home with us, although she’s still quite young. She may very well marry again.”
Justina shook her head. “I honestly don’t think so. She was terribly hurt by her first husband.”
Perchance she’d tell Baxter that story someday. But not today and not without Aunt Emily’s permission.
He hadn’t directly addressed her bastardry either.
“Baxter, I am the illegitimate daughter of an Austrian commoner. You are a duke. People will talk, and that’s without knowing my tainted background.”
His beautiful mouth bent into a bone-melting smile. “I dinna care, and that’s all that matters.”
Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and she fell impossibly deeper in love with him.
“Ye didna answer me, Justina.” Baxter began removing the pins from her hair, and once it was free of its moorings, ran his fingers thr
ough the length. “I’ve longed to do this since that first day I saw ye sittin’ in Bathhurst Hotel and Spa’s drawin’ room.
She threaded her fingers through his thick mane, the hair silkier than she’d ever have guessed. “As have I,” she admitted, thrilling at the low growl in his throat.
“Will ye marry me, love? I do love ye, Justina. I think I have from the moment ye said ye believed in love at first sight. Only I was blind to the truth right before me.”
“I love you too, Baxter. I knew I did when you throttled Howlette on my behalf.” Then brazenly, she stood on her toes and drew his mouth down to hers, whispering, “Take me to bed.”
“Ye dinna want to wait until we exchange our vows?”
She gave him a coy smile. “Do you?”
Chapter Twelve
Baxter scooped Justina into his arms and strode to his mussed bed. He set her on the rumpled sheets, tangled from a night of his tossing and turning as thoughts of her tortured him. Bending over her, he cupped her ivory cheek in one hand.
He’d never seen a woman with lovelier skin, peaches and cream. “Are ye absolutely certain, Justina?”
She gifted him a beatific smile, and for the remainder of his days, until he was a doddering, ancient fool, he’d recall how that smile lit the room, love and adoration blooming across her face.
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life, Baxter.”
His cock had been hard as forged steel since she’d entered his chamber, practically eating him with her hungry gaze. But at her sincere declaration, he grew harder still. “Then let me love ye, my darlin’.”
“Yes, please,” she said, her voice husky.
Baxter sat beside her, and drew her into his arms, ravenous for a taste of her mouth. Settling his lips upon hers, he relished her sigh of delight. He teased her mouth open, and Justina welcomed him inside the velvety depths.
Her tongue parried with his for several long, sensuous moments.
“Let’s get ye out of these clothes, shall we? I want to see all of ye.”
Wedding Her Christmas Duke: A Regency Romance Page 10
