Christmas in the Duke's Embrace

by Amanda Mariel

  Father had ordered the driver—a man Marina had not previously met—to stop only when necessary and he’d taken the command to heart. The only time she’d been permitted a break from the carriage was when the horses required changing. She’d slept, eaten, and even relieved herself within its limited space. Her gut turned, nausea rising at the thought of arriving at her aunt’s.

  As bad as her conditions were now, they’d no doubt deteriorate upon her arrival at Aunt Teresa’s home. Never had she met a more pious woman—stern and cold as well. Once when Marina had been but ten years old she'd been caught helping herself to a sweet-tart while visiting her aunt. The woman had taken a strap to her backside for the offense. After her beating, she'd been forced to write bible verses about the sin of stealing and pray for forgiveness.

  Marina sighed as she rubbed small circles over her throbbing back. She could scarcely imagine how her aunt would discipline her for her current transgression. Surely her aunt would view her as a heathen—pregnant and unwed—she was a charlatan. What if Aunt Teresa beat her again? Cold dread filled Marina. She could lose the baby.

  No. She’d not allow for such an outcome. Marina despised Lord Banfeld for the role he'd played in her disgrace, but she loved her child—wanted to be the baby's mother. She withdrew her hand from her back and settled it over her round belly. Somehow, she'd find a way to keep them both safe.

  Without warning, shouts filled the air followed by the horses’ frightened whinnies and angry curses from the coachman. Her heart caught in her throat as she braced herself against the carriage seat.

  The conveyance careened wildly from side to side. A scream tore from her throat as the coach came to a jarring stop. With her stomach in knots, she reached one shaking hand out to pull the curtain aside. She peered out at the snow-covered landscape, her gaze locking on a set of ruffians. Heaven help her.

  The men were garbed in tattered, dirty clothing, their disheveled appearances leaving her to draw but one conclusion. Highwaymen. Powerless to do anything other than stare, she continued to study the scene. One man held tight to the horse's bridle while the other brandished a pistol on her driver.

  Blast it, she had to do something. Marina dropped the curtain back over the small window. She could not sit here and wait to be robbed—or worse. She started to move toward the carriage door, then froze. A loud crack reverberated from outside causing her to jump.

  Gunfire. Her blood ran cold at the realization.

  Before she could react, the carriage door swung open and one of the highwaymen peaked inside. With her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs, she slid into the corner pressing herself against the carriage wall.

  The grimy man smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “I’m gonna have fun with ye.”

  Marina shook her head as she pressed tighter against the wall.

  “Do not play shy, darlin. I promise ye’ll like what I’ve in store for ye.” The man stepped into the carriage.

  “No, wait.” Panic filled Marina's voice, her insides quivering at the intent she read in the man’s beady eyes. He was going to rape her. “Please don’t touch me. I'll give you everything I have, only don’t hurt me.” It wasn’t until after she’d spoken the words that it occurred to her she didn’t have anything of value to bribe the men with.

  She would have to fight. Find some way to escape from them. But how?

  “I want what’s under those fine skirts.” The man reached for her gown, tugging the skirt upward. “Be a good girl and I’ll see to it ye don’t suffer much.”

  Marina shoved her skirt back down her legs, her heart pounding so hard it threatened to burst from her chest. “Please stop. I’m with child.”

  He slid closer, bringing his thigh against hers and reaching for her breast. “Then I expect you to treat me like an experienced woman ought to.”

  She swatted his hand from her breast. Why had she thought the miscreant would care about her condition? She darted her gaze around the carriage looking for anything she might wield as a weapon.

  “Come love. Don’t make me call Chester in here to hold ye down.” He took a handful of her gown and ripped the bodice until her breasts spilled out.

  Pressing her eyes together, Marina balled her fists and lifted a prayer. See me through this. Lend me the strength and courage necessary to save myself and my baby. She opened her eyes then swung her fists madly, connecting with the man's face, head, and chest.

  He laughed, capturing her hands and forcing them above her head. “A lively chit, aye.”

  A tear slid down Marina’s cheek as the man pressed his thigh between her legs. As he attempted to force her legs apart an idea formed in her mind. She willed herself to relax a measure, to allow him some ground, then she brought her knee up hard to connect with his groin.

  “Bitch.” The man crumbled to the carriage floor and rolled up in the fetal position.

  Desperation clawing at her insides, Marina stumbled for the door and cast herself through it. When her slippered feet hit the frozen ground, she burst into a run. Her feet pounded against the snow-covered ground as she fled toward the woods.

  “Ye won’t get away. Ye’ll freeze out there.”

  The sound of pursuing footfalls chased after her but she didn’t dare spare a glance backward for fear of losing her balance and being recaptured.

  “Be a good girl and let me find ye. We’ll warm ye up.”

  She plowed through thick branches and thorny vines. They reached out to slap and scrape against her, causing her skin to burn and sting. Still, she ran with all of the force she possessed. Spotting a cavern sunk into a small hill, she raced toward it. Pray, let there not be a ravenous animal concealed within the dens shelter. With that thought, she dropped to her knees and crawled inside.

  Marina worked to calm her heaving breaths as she huddled in the dark space. If they found her now, she would be well and truly trapped. The cavern afforded just enough space for her to squeeze into with her back against the frozen wall of dirt and her knees curled against her swollen belly. If the vagabonds found her, she’d be completely at their mercy—a trait that clearly eluded them.

  She pressed her hand to her beating heart and listened for her pursuer. Heartbeats passed with nary a sound, then the crunching of boots upon the hardened snow reached her ears. Drat! She’d not considered the trail left by her own footfalls. He'd surely discover her.

  “I’ve got ye now.” The man’s voice sent a shiver down her spine.

  Marina wriggled out of her hiding place, her gaze darting about for a weapon. She would have to fight him off for there truly was nowhere to hide. Leastwise not for long. A sturdy stick lay on the ground to her right. Marina hefted it into her hands then swung it through the air, testing its weight.

  She pressed her back to a nearby tree as the sound of the man’s footfalls grew louder. She inhaled a ragged breath, then braced herself as she called out, “Over here.”

  Her pulse pounded wildly as she listened to his approach. Each crunch of his boots putting her more on edge until he reached for her. Marina swung the stick with a perfect arc bringing it flush against the highwayman’s jaw.

  He fell in a heap to the frozen ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. Goodness, had she killed him? She started to stoop down and check but recovered her wits before doing so. She hadn't the time to waste on a man who meant her harm.

  With the stick in one hand and her skirts in the other, she started back toward the roadside with as much haste as she dared. If the other man remained with her carriage, she may have to weld the stick again. Her boot slipped on an icy patch and she scrambled to remain on her feet. A small shriek of surprise escaped her.

  Marina glanced over her shoulder fearful that the man may have recovered and heard her scream. An expanse of snow-covered forest greeted her. She closed her eyes and exhaled a slow breath.

  “Grab the bitch.” A man’s angry voice yelled.

  Her heart seemed to jump in her chest as her eyes flew open. To
o late, for the man she’d dispatched in the carriage stood before her brandishing his pistol.

  He grabbed her arm and yanked. “Come along. Ye’ve caused enough trouble.”

  She dug her heels into the earth, her mind scrambling. “Let. Me. Go!” She ground the words out through clenched teeth.

  The man ignored her as he continued to tug her along. In another moment his partner reached their side and took hold of her other arm. They hefted her off her feet and carried her toward the road.

  Marina kicked and screamed as they continued their assault. The more she fought the tighter they squeezed her arms. Desperate, she turned her head and spit in one of the men's faces.

  He jerked them to a halt beside the carriage. Wiping her spittle from his eye, he turned a cold, dangerous gaze on her. “I’ve had ’bout enough of ye.”

  With her feet back on the ground, Marina raised one foot and brought her heel down hard on the other man's boot. They may force her into her conveyance. They may assault her. They bloody may well do any number of things, but they'd not harm her without a fight.

  “Ouch!” He flinched, his jaw ticking. “What say ye we leave her here to freeze? Ain’t no skirt worth all this trouble.”

  A flicker of hope sprouted to life in Marina’s heart. If they left her be, she could find shelter. Surely a passing traveler would stop to aid her. She glanced up and down the road. If not, she’d walk until she reached a residence where she could seek help. At any rate, all would be well if she could just get free from the highwaymen.

  “Aye.” The man gave a grimy toothed grin, then jerked her against him. His breath burned her nostrils as he huffed in her face, his eyes burning into hers. “Ye won’t survive the hour, wench.” He pushed her away, releasing his bruising grip on her arm.

  As she stumbled backward, his fist slammed into her cheek jarring her teeth and turning her world black.

  Chapter 2

  Evan Lockheart, Duke of Rowley, rode neck-or-nothing across his estate. The biting winter’s air lashed against his exposed face leaving his skin numb, but he didn’t mind—in fact, he embraced the chill. It was a self-imposed torture meant to chase away the ghosts that haunted him.

  Three years had passed since his sister's death, two since his wife's, yet he could not shake the memories. This time of year, when fall gave way to winter and the approaching Christmas season, was always especially hard on him. He’d attempted to outrun the memories early on but found it a fruitless endeavor. Now he secluded himself away at his country estate where he could at least avoid the awkward stares and whispers of his peers.

  Evan was well aware of the gossip surrounding him. People called him a recluse and talked about his misfortunes. On the rare occasions that he ventured into London, people stared and cast him odd glances. He’d heard himself called the Duke of Death on more than one occasion. Though the moniker rankled, he supposed it fit.

  Everyone Evan had ever loved had gone onto their final reward. His parents died in a carriage accident six years ago, followed by his sister’s suicide, then his wife and son perished during childbirth. The losses stacked up, consuming his soul until there was little left. When the dust settled, he found himself an empty shell of a man stashed away in the country where he could not be hurt again.

  And he preferred it that way.

  When there was no-one around to love—no-one to care for—there was no-one to lose.

  Evan bent low over his stallion and nudged his heels into the horse’s side urging it to run faster. He may not be able to outrun the memories of his past, but he damn well meant to try. Regardless, the cold air lashing his face proved a good distraction. He crested a hill then steered his mount toward the road.

  Something odd caught his eye as he raced down the frozen stretch of road. A blur of pale blue. Not a color to be seen in nature this time of year. He slowed his mount, turned the horse and rode back in the direction he’d come. All the while he watched the roadside and wondered at what he’d seen. Had it been his imagination? Perhaps a bundle of cloth had fallen from a mail coach? That was more likely as he was quite certain he’d not imagined the sight.

  Before long the pale blue caught his gaze again. He peered at the cloth as he drew nearer, his breath hitching. “What the deuce?” Evan pulled rein then slid from his horses back. He moved closer, his attention arrested on the roadside. This was no bundle of cloth. It was a woman.

  He dropped to his knees beside her. A light dusting of snow covered her face and a white cloak concealed most of her pale blue gown. His gut clenched when he noticed the rip in her bodice. What had happened to her? How long had she been here? Long enough to have frozen to death? His gaze hitched on the bruise marking her cheek.

  Evan’s throat tightened, his pulse picking up speed as he dusted the snow from her ashen face with light strokes, being careful not to harm her further. “Hello. Can you hear me?”

  She did not move.

  He pressed his hand to her shoulder and shook her. “Miss?”

  Again, no response.

  Knots formed in his gut as he reached for the pale column of her throat, then pressed his fingers against her cool flesh. He released a breath at the delicate thumping he detected there. Whoever this woman was, she lived. Leastwise for now.

  Without another thought, Evan scooped her into his arms and made haste for his mount. He had to get her inside before it was too late. Hell, she may well still die from the exposure she’d suffered, but not if he could help it. He’d send for the doctor straightaway—do all he could to see her well.

  Evan swallowed back the memories of his past as he settled her against him and took up his reins. He reminded himself once more that this woman was alive. She had a chance to survive. She was not his wife, nor his sister or parents. He’d do all in his power to see her restored to health and returned to her family.

  He wrapped his arm securely around her waist. The rounded bump of an expectant mother greeted his touch. Good God, she was with child. His blood ran cold, his breath hitching as determination replaced the shock he’d felt.

  Evan dug his heels into the horse's side spurring it into a run. Who was this woman? She looked to be about his sister's age. A noblewoman for certain based on her clothing. What was she doing alone?

  A sudden onslaught of memories blazed through his mind. His sister, Rosa, had been two and twenty when she'd taken her fall from grace. Society had shunned her mercilessly. Even her girlhood friends gave her the cut direct. Unable to cope with her new reality, Rosa had ended her life. Could this woman be in a similar position?

  Pushing the memories back to the recesses of his mind, Evan held the stranger a little closer. She was not Rosa. This was an altogether different situation. He glanced at her, noting the delicate slope of her nose and full bow-shaped lips. Surely she belonged to someone.

  For reasons he did not dare examine, the idea of her being wed unsettled him. It was pure nonsense. He had no cause to feel anything for the stranger. He’d only just found her. He didn’t even know her name. Of course, she was married. She was expecting a child after all.

  Like Rosa…

  He shook his head as he slid from his mount bringing the woman with him. He cradled her while he stormed toward his house. He knew better than anyone that being with child did not always mean a woman had been taken to wife. Someone may have taken advantage of her. Gotten her with child and then abandoned her. Such a situation could explain why she had been alone.

  Evan barked orders as he carried her into the house and toward the stairs. He met his butler’s curious stare. “Larkin, send for the doctor.”

  Larkin nodded, “Straight away, Your Grace.”

  Evan caught sight of two maids in the receiving room near the stairs. “Mary, Constance, come with me.” He took the steps two at a time, rushing to reach his bedchamber. “Mary go fetch the housekeeper.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Evan crested the stairs, turned and strode toward his chamber. “Constan
ce go ahead of me. Open my door and pull back the bedclothes.”

  The maid ran past him but did not gain much ground. A mere heartbeat after she pulled the door open, he stepped through it. Going directly to the bed, Evan laid the woman on his plush mattress. “Undress her.”

  Constance’s eyes rounded. “But, Your Grace—”

  “Do it.” Evan shot her a no-nonsense glare.

  Constance bobbed her head then reached for the button fastening the woman’s cloak.

  “Once you have her clothing removed, tuck the blankets around her. She needs warmth.”

  “As you wish.” She freed the cloak then reached for the woman hem.

  Satisfied, Evan turned his back. The woman needed to get out of her frozen, damp clothing, but she did not need him ogling her in the process. He moved to the fire, tossed on another log and set about stoking the flames. By the time he’d completed the task, the fire roared as though it’d sprung from the pits of hell.

  Evan held his hands out, warming them while he waited for the maid to finish her task. Irritation laced his voice when he said, “Do hurry.” Unable to stop himself, he peeked over his shoulder. His gaze met with an expanse of bare skin, then arrested on the woman's swollen belly. She had to be at least six months along given the prominent rounding of her abdomen.

  Constance began pulling the covers over the woman’s body and he turned back to the fire. He’d not want to be caught looking at her in such a state. Having her here—in his bed—was scandalous enough and God only knew what she’d already suffered. He’d not have it said that he’d taken liberties with her.

  “She is covered, Your Grace,” Constance said.

  Evan approached the bed, his gaze once more trained on the woman. She did not show any indication of consciousness. Her breaths came in slow and shallow to the point that he could barely detect the rise and fall of her chest. He reached out and placed his hand on her forehead. Mercy, she was cold.

  Constance tucked the blankets tighter against her. “Is there anything else I can do?”