A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  She shook beneath him but never wavered from his stare. “Kindness. Pity, perhaps. I don’t know.”

  “That’s right, you don’t know. They love you, Grace. Everyone around you loves you, but I’m the only one you push away. If you’re incapable of recognizing their love for what it is, then it’s no wonder you cannot see mine.”

  “You…you don’t love me.” She shook her head as tears sprung to her eyes. “You cannot love me.”

  “Why, Grace?” he roared. “Why can’t you see?”

  She struggled against him, pushed him away with all her strength. Her movements set his loins aflame, and he kissed her hard on the lips, forcing his tongue inside her mouth. He slid the fabric of her traveling gown off her shoulders and freed her breasts to his touch. He stroked and kneaded first one mound, then the other.

  She arched her back, pressing herself more fully into his hands. His need took control when she surrendered to him, and he forgot they were in a moving carriage.

  He lifted his hips to unfasten his breeches. Alex fumbled with the buttons, his large hand bungling with the small implements, but he kept his other hand on Grace. When he finally freed his erection, he lifted his wife above him to straddle his hips and moved her skirts up about her waist, pulling frantically at the strings to her drawers.

  She lowered onto him, her tightness enveloping him with exquisite torture. They moved together, hips rocking in time with the carriage rolling over the road. Grace rose and fell above him, arching into his touch, his mouth.

  He nibbled her breasts. She moaned low with desire. Alex took her hips in his hands and increased the pace of their loving. She quickened around him, her eyes closed, her head rolled back. Soft little sighs sounded from her throat.

  “Open your eyes, Grace. I want to watch you when you peak.” He needed his own release, but forced himself to hold it at bay.

  She obeyed and stared into his eyes, her frosty centers aflame with desire and need.

  He thrust inside her and held her still, filling her to the brim. “I love you, Grace. I need you to believe me. I need you to accept my love.”

  She turned her head to the side.

  “No. Look at me.” With one hand, Alex pulled her head to place her eyes in line with his again and held her firmly in place. “I love you.”

  A single tear filled her eye and spilled over. He wiped it away with a finger and placed a chaste kiss on her lips.

  “I love you, Grace.”

  She tried to shake her head and deny his love, but he held her head still.

  “I love you.” Alex moved inside her again, showing her his love with long, smooth strokes.

  “I love you.” He kissed her, his tongue matching the pace of their bodies.

  “I love you.” He moved a hand between them and stroked her taut nub.

  She shuddered in his arms and tightened against him. He watched as her eyes melted from the heat. Grace cried out and collapsed against him, hiding her face against his neck.

  Alex resituated them on the floor of the carriage and continued to show her his love. He pulled her legs up and around his waist and thrust deep and hard and fast, desperate for release. He held her close and murmured his love in her ear.

  She reached climax again and screamed out his name as he came to completion inside her. Alex rolled them both over and pulled her atop him. Her head lay against his chest as they searched for air.

  “I love you, Grace,” he said as he stroked the wisps of hair that fell from her tight knot. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you, I believe. Your eyes have haunted my dreams since that first day, even before I heard your voice.”

  She raised her head to look into his eyes. Wetness covered her cheeks.

  “I didn’t marry you because I had to, or because honor demanded it. I didn’t marry you because your father insisted. I married you because I love you. And if it takes a lifetime to convince you of my love, then that’s precisely how I’ll spend my life.”

  Her chin trembled. “You love me? Really, truly?”

  The dismay in her voice knocked the air from his lungs. He searched for another way to convince her. His search was stopped by her tiny fist to his gut.

  “Why did it take you so blasted long to tell me?”

  She tumbled onto him and they rolled until he was above her again. She took his face between her hands and kissed him long and deep.

  “I love you, Alex.”

  He breathed freely for the first time in a long time. “I love you too, Grace.”

  Epilogue

  Grace walked gingerly down the curved stairway of Somerton Court, one hand supporting her back and the other holding onto the banister.

  Sophie came around the corner and rushed to her side. “What on earth are you doing, Grace? You should have pulled the bell, and any one of us could have helped you down.”

  “I’m pregnant, not incapacitated. You know as well as I do that I’m perfectly capable of moving around on my own.”

  “Still, if Alex knew…”

  “Alex won’t know though, will he?” Grace grinned at her sister-in-law. “You’ll tell him I pulled the bell and you assisted me the entire way. Because you love me, and I’m pregnant, and I insist.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell a bouncer for you, but only if you do something for me.” Sophie had a gleam in her eyes, the same gleam Grace had come to know meant either trouble or fun, or perhaps both.

  “Oh, good. What are you planning?” She almost rubbed her hands in anticipation. Almost. “I need a spot of fun, you know. I’m sick to death of being cooped up in bed.”

  “He only thinks he’s protecting you, you know.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.” She would prefer to be up, moving about, than stuck in bed, no matter how large her belly had grown. “But enough of that. Tell me what you have in the works.”

  Sophie glanced to both ends of the long entry hall of Somerton Court and pulled Grace into a nearby drawing room. She took one final glance down the hall before she closed the door.

  “You must keep this a secret.” Sophie fell into a sofa and tugged on Grace’s hand so she would sit next to her.

  “Of course.”

  “You have to swear to me you’ll tell no one, not even Alex.”

  “I believe you know me better than that by now.” Really, couldn’t she just get on with it?

  Sophie took one more look about, even though she knew they were alone and the door was closed. Good grief! “Richard’s coming home. He’ll be here by tomorrow at the latest.” The exuberant smile on her face was contagious.

  “Oh, Sophie, I’m so happy for you.” She felt a small twinge in her side, but ignored it. “Does anyone else know? Your mother? Peter?”

  “No, no one. Only you. He sent me a letter and begged me to keep it secret, but I was absolutely bursting with the news. I had to tell someone.”

  “Well, I’m glad you chose me.” A sharper pain assaulted her, and she cringed.

  “What is it?” Her sister-in-law took her hand and jumped to her feet. “Is it the baby?”

  “No, I’m sure it is nothing to worry about…”

  “Do not dare lie to me, Gracie.”

  “Really, I’m fine. Sit, talk to me. Tell me more about Richard coming home.” She needed to hear Sophie’s voice so she could convince herself the baby wasn’t coming yet.

  “Well, he hasn’t sold his commission,” Sophie said as she resumed her seat. “He’s on a fortnight’s holiday, and he couldn’t have better timing, with the whole family gathered here for Christmas. And for the baby’s arrival, of course.”

  “Of course.” Grace grimaced as another pain shot through her middle.

  “You are not fine, so stop trying to convince me otherwise.” Sophie rose from the sofa again and rushed to the door. “I’m getting Mama. And Alex. Oh, and everyone.” She ran out, leaving the door to the drawing room wide open. Her voice rang out, calling through the halls of Somerton Court. With
in moments, the hullabaloo of her family rushing to her side broke out.

  Her family. Grace liked the sound of it.

  No, liked wasn’t nearly the right word. Loved. She loved having her own family.

  Within minutes, the room was overcrowded with the Hardwickes, her aunt and uncle, even her father. The commotion overwhelmed her.

  Henrietta called out for quiet. “Enough. Grace needs calm. Can’t you see how distressed she is? Here sweetheart, we’ll have you somewhere more comfortable in no time.” Alex pushed from behind as Peter and Neil pulled Grace to her feet.

  And then a new commotion broke out when a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark, reddish-brown hair, fair skin, and the same deep green eyes Alex had, a man Grace could mistake for none other than Major Lord Richard Hardwicke, walked through the door of the drawing room and joined the party.

  “I see I made it just in time.”

  Indeed, he had. Peter and Neil dropped their holds and she fell onto her husband in a most ungraceful heap. Her newest brother, Richard, rushed to her side to help her up again so they could haul her to a more appropriate place for birthing her child.

  Grace’s family was complete.

  Merely a Miss

  Catherine Gayle

  Dedication

  To Grandpa, Uncle George, sweet Salvation Jane, and my Bailey Boo. I miss you all.

  Chapter One

  London, 1815

  A shrill, female voice that could only belong to his mother demanded entrance just as a rather loud thud sounded against the door. “His Grace is not to be disturbed, ma’am,” came the gruff, masculine response of his footman.

  Peter Hardwicke, Duke of Somerton, could almost feel the commotion outside the doors of his library, not just hear it. Clearly unimpressed by the footman’s response to her command, Mama pushed the door open and nearly burst it free from its hinges.

  Forrester’s jaw fell open from across the great oak desk. He stared at the dowager as she disrupted their business meeting. One look back at Peter, however, had the secretary snapping his mouth closed so fast he might have bitten off the end of his tongue.

  The Dowager Duchess of Somerton might disregard her son’s edicts, but no one would disrespect her and live to tell the tale. At least not if Peter knew anything about it.

  Henrietta Hardwicke—lovely, still, with her rich auburn hair streaked with only a bit of white, and quite a lovely figure, despite having borne six children—pushed the doors wide as the bedraggled butler, Spenser, and Peter’s baffled footman followed in her wake.

  “Your Grace, I apologize,” Spenser stammered. “We informed Her Grace that you required privacy, but she would not take no for an answer.” His beleaguered butler looked ready to rip his hair out in frustration and, indeed, a few stray grays stood on end.

  Peter could understand the sentiment.

  He needed to sort out these matters with Forrester and send the man on his way. Then he could better focus on the day’s true agenda: examining the ledgers from his various estates. Only that morning, he had held his quarterly meeting with Yeats to receiving his accounting. Peter’s man of business held no small amount of concern over Carreg Mawr, Peter’s Welsh estate. It seemed that Turnpenny might be losing his touch with the staff, at least if Yeats’s hunch was correct.

  Yeats was rarely wrong with his hunches. It was a seminal talent.

  Peter’s talents, however, lay in finding proof of his hunches by poring over the accounts. Doing so would require time, though, and a bit of silence in his house.

  Neither of which was he currently being granted.

  “That is correct, I will not accept no for an answer.” His mother, ever forthright, smoothed the lawn fabric of her gown with her one free hand (the other being occupied with a note of some sort) and moved further into the library. “You may all leave now. I should like a word with my son alone.”

  All three servants waited for his signal before departing. At least they would respect his authority in this house. A throb formed behind Peter’s eye.

  He loved his mother—he truly did. In fact, he loved all of his family a great deal. It was because of that great love for them that he overlooked it when they treated him with somewhat less respect than his position in society demanded.

  It was also because of that love that he needed to complete his current task. After all, one must always fulfill one’s duty to those one loved. Peter’s duty to his family was to assure their wellbeing. Doing so required the incomes from his properties. And maintaining such an income from said properties required his utter diligence and devotion.

  He shook his head. Sometimes it felt as though no one else understood how great his responsibilities were. This was one of those times. He took a glance at the stack of papers toppling over his currently cluttered but normally tidy desk and awaiting his attention, then up at Mama’s fierce determination—the firm set of her jaw and the slight rise of a single eyebrow. He tried to mask his annoyance as he waved the servants away and escorted his mother into a chintz armchair near the large and piteously over-cluttered desk.

  His mother would always be granted his time, when he could make it for her.

  Peter waited until the door closed behind the men before he asked, “What can I do for you today, Mama?” He said a silent prayer for patience.

  She looked across at him with a deadpanned gaze. “To start, you can find a wife.”

  Good God. Again?

  “I see.” Of course, he plainly did not see. This was the last thing he had been expecting to come from her mouth. He pushed at the unrelenting ache in his temples, hoping the pressure might ease the pain. “A wife?” He had no time for this. Not this discussion, not this business with Carreg Mawr—none of it. The Parliamentary session would begin in short order. That’s where his attentions needed to be. He needed to meet with a few of the other Lords so they could decide what to do about Napoleon. The man could only stay put on Elba for so long, after all, and Prinny was counting on Peter and his group to determine what, specifically, should be done with him. “And why, precisely, should I find a wife?”

  “Why should you not? Peter, I want you to be happy. I want all of my children to be happy. Don’t you want what Alex and Grace have found together? They are so very much in love.” She gave him a pointed look. “You could be too.”

  Good Lord in heaven, why should he want that for himself? It was all fine and well for Alex, but Peter and Alex were hardly the same. He’d hoped that when Alex had married, Mama’s matchmaking schemes would have come to a close.

  They clearly had not.

  “I already had a wife, or have you forgotten? Mary was everything a duchess should be. She provided me with two children—two beautiful children.” He walked to the hearth, rubbing his right hand absentmindedly over his jaw. “I couldn’t secure happiness with her, so why should I expect a different result simply from taking another wife? Your expectations are unreasonable, Mama.”

  She let out a huge sigh. “Mary was a good woman, but she was entirely wrong for you. You and I both knew that before you ever offered for her. Even your father said as much.”

  Not that he had had any choice in the matter.

  “And you think someone else could be a better duchess for me than she was?”

  “I’m more concerned that she be a better wife for you.”

  He chose to ignore that particular remark. After all, if one was a good duchess, one must also be a good wife. The idea that the two were not interchangeable was simply unfathomable. “I see.”

  She huffed at him. “Enough with the ‘I see’ business. You clearly do not see, or you would have already put yourself back on the marriage mart and be well on your way to having more children in your nursery.”

  “You think you can find someone to replace her?” Mary had fulfilled every obligation of the station with elegance and ease. Not just any lady could have handled the position with her degree of finesse. “No. I have more than enough responsibilities t
o fill two lifetimes. I won’t even consider adding to them in such a way.”

  “Responsibilities? I do love you, as I love all of my children, but you are not always the brightest, are you?” Mama softened her rebuke with a smile. “Can’t you see that if you loved your wife, she wouldn’t be another burden for you?” She reached across his desk and squeezed his hand. “I only want to ease some of your worries, not add to them.”

  He looked at the pile of paperwork waiting on his desk—two large stacks of the ledgers from his various accounts, another, equally large stack of correspondence awaiting his response, and a book of proverbs.

  Those proverbs were his one diversion these days, the one manner he allowed himself for spending his rather limited idle time. He refused to see such a pastime as wasteful, since at least the proverbs allowed him to grow in wisdom. However, he likely wouldn’t be able to study them again for weeks, at the current rate, and longer than that if he agreed to whatever harebrained scheme his mother was currently concocting.

  “Another person to feed, clothe, entertain, and see to their happiness would not add to my duties? I wish I could see the world from your perspective, but the reality is I’m responsible for you, five siblings, two children, and five estates, along with seeing to my duties to the crown. When am I supposed to find time for a wife amongst all of that?”

  Not to mention he had absolutely no desire for one. There were plenty of women prepared to satisfy his sexual needs who didn’t insist upon the commitment a wife or even a mistress would require. Peter failed to see what purpose taking a new duchess could possibly serve.

  “You could see life from my perspective if you fell in love. Try it.” Her eyes didn’t ask for his cooperation; rather, they commanded his obedience.

  He felt like a little boy again, one who’d just defied his mother. Mama could always do that to him, even as a grown man, even now that he was the Duke of Somerton. He was one of the most powerful men in the entire kingdom, for God’s sake. “And just how, pray tell, do you propose I try it?” Why had he even bothered to ask? He dreaded her answer. Of course, he didn’t have to agree to whatever her plan was. There was always another option, even with Mama.