The crackle of the fire seemed unusually loud as his fingers worked down her back, popping each button as though he had all the time in the world. Her breaths rasped in her throat and any thoughts of the night being cold deserted her. All of a sudden, it was entirely too hot in her room.
Air brushed the top of her back and he pushed the sleeves of her evening gown down. In spite of still being in her chemise and corset, with the skirt still hanging from her waist, she felt exposed. It excited and unnerved her.
His hands came to the waist of her dress and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip.
“Shall I...?”
“No! Just my corset, please.”
He could unbind her corset and leave her relatively covered. He had already seen her naked several times, she reminded herself. She was no virgin. Well, hardly. How many times had he bedded her? Four, five times? Did that even count? But right now she could not bear to be so...vulnerable. He had her at a disadvantage with the effect he had on her.
A muttered curse came from him, and she bit back a giggle. She had never heard him curse before. He had always remained so proper around her. She had to admit she was a fine one for cursing—not very becoming of a duchess, but who was around to hear her?
“Forgive me, these laces...”
“Yes, they are a bother.”
“I wonder why you wear these contraptions when we have no company.”
He said this as though he was speaking to himself, but she answered anyway. “I’ve worn corsets for so many years, I do believe my insides would fall out if I did not.”
Alexander’s sharp bark of astonished laughter sent a curl of warmth into her stomach, further heating her body. But it was not an uncomfortable, itchy warmth that begged her to flatten herself against him. It was a sweet, subtle one that made her feel as though her insides really were mush and in danger of doing something they shouldn’t.
Her ribs expanded as the corset came loose and she tugged it forwards and off to fling it aside. He laughed again and put his hands to her waist.
“You feel perfectly normal.”
“Well, thank goodness for that.”
She turned, his hands still upon her, unable to rid the smile from her face. When she met his gaze, she noted his eyes were crinkled in the corners and the smallest smile teased his lips. A tingle ran from her head to the ends of her toes.
Then he glanced down. When his gaze returned to hers, the crinkles had gone and his brown eyes had grown hooded again. He peered at her down his nose. Emma peeked down to try to understand what had triggered such a reaction. Her dress hung from her hips and her breasts stood out against the cotton of her chemise. Her nipples were hardened points.
Emma heard his ragged intake of breath. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth. Had she embarrassed herself? Did he like the sight? What should she do? Before she could decide, Alexander dropped his hands and backed away. He stumbled into the door and if she had not been so disappointed, she might have giggled.
“Uh, goodnight, Your Grace, uh, Emma. Sleep well.”
He turned, yanked open the door with a muttered curse and stalked out. Emma stared at the empty spot where he had been for several moments before stepping forwards and shutting the door. What had just happened? She should have taken advantage of the moment, if only she understood better how to handle men. If she was to ever put an end to her loneliness, she needed to persuade her husband to join her in her bed.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would do a much better job of being a seductive, beautiful woman. Talking about her insides falling out? What had she been thinking? Her sense of humour really was terrible. No wonder he wanted to escape as fast as he could. But if she was ever to get what she hungered so badly for, she would have to watch her tongue and work harder to lure her husband into bed.
She patted her flat stomach. Before the festive season was over she would have a child growing inside her. Someone to love and take care of. Whatever she had to do to entice her husband, she would do it, because the gift of a child would be worth every moment.
Chapter Three
Emma hadn’t risen from bed by the time Alex finished his breakfast and had spoken with the butler on the state of the house. All was well, he was assured. Her Grace was a fine mistress, but the year had been a hard one. Alex could not be so sure. Balmead had always been a profitable estate. What was she doing with the money? He would have to take the time to sit down and go through the accounts before the festivities began.
He took a moment to study the bare drawing room. He had struck on an idea last night while he had been attempting to sleep. The lack of decorations bothered him. Their families would be joining them shortly—there being only three days until Christmas day—and the ramshackle state of the house would be apparent to them all. But a few more decorations would certainly disguise the fact to a point.
He paced the room and eyed the far corner. The perfect spot, he decided. Besides which, the thought of standing around, waiting for his wife to rise, only to sit in uncomfortable silence grated on him. He’d far rather be outside in the fresh air, doing something active. Sitting had always been his least favourite occupation.
Alex yawned. Not to mention he needed to wake up and when he glanced outside he saw the snow had started again. The layer on the ground was not thick enough to prevent travel but it would be freezing. Perhaps that would rouse him fully and dampen some of his heated imaginings. It was no bad thing to be attracted to his wife—not when he intended to seduce her and get her with child—but it made him a bumbling fool. Instead of using last night to get her into his bed, he had ended up nearly tripping out the door and making some insipid joke. He should have been speaking of her beauty or kissing her or something...anything!
Still, that smile and her laugh had been...pleasant. It had rung in his ears and imprinted in his brain for the rest of the night. So not only did he have to contend with being aroused, he had to spend the rest of the night imagining her laughing and smiling at him more often. He wasn’t sure he had known she was capable of laughing.
Striding through to the back of the castle, he came to the store room at the side of the kitchen. The scent of toast and bacon still hung in the air and the cook lifted her head to acknowledge him as he brushed past where she was pounding dough into submission. Flour puffed up and filled the air, mingling with the morning sunlight seeping through the back windows.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Hannah, how are you?”
“Can’t complain, Your Grace.”
The old woman had worked at Balmead and sometimes the ducal estate in Surrey since he was a boy. Her bony hands dug into the dough with surprising ferocity. He always thought she looked as though she could do with sampling some of her own food but suspected he’d get a clip around the ear for saying so. His rank as duke meant little to her, not when she had spent many hours chasing him around the kitchen after she found him climbing onto tables to steal pastries and treats as a boy.
He paused and turned to lean against the rough oak table in the middle of the kitchen. “I’m glad to see you are still here, Hannah.”
“You couldn’t get me to leave if you tried.”
“All is well then? The duchess treats you well.”
The grey-haired woman’s brows rose and she nodded. “Of course. I don’t put up with nonsense, you know that.”
“Well, it seems half of the servants thought otherwise.”
She waved a flour-covered hand at him. “Ah, some of them wanted to go onto pastures new. The duchess helped them find new work. You know what youngsters are like. Well, of course you do, you’re still one yourself really, and you certainly have never been able to stay in one place for long. Besides which, we do just fine on our own. We hardly need a large household to look after one lady.”
Alex wasn’t sure why but he felt like he’d just been scolded for questioning the duchess’s approach to household management. For some reason, his staff
appeared incredibly loyal to her. Did they not know of her lover? Perhaps he was no longer around. Surely if Hannah had realised Emma was keeping a lover, she would not be so loyal. Hannah was as old-fashioned as they came.
“Do we have an axe?” he asked, pushing away from the table and peering into the store room. Several old boxes and trunks cluttered the space and the odour of damp stone made his nose wrinkle.
“Aye, Your Grace, behind the box of candles. Freddie has several though he may well have taken the best one to finish chopping the firewood today.”
Alex nodded and stepped into the dank storage room. He sneezed as he inhaled the dust in the room. It had once been the toilets many hundreds of years ago, he had been told, but now the stone ledge had been planked over and was used as shelving. He hefted the box of candles aside and spotted the axes in the gloom. Grabbing the first one, he weighted it in his hand and smiled. That would do nicely.
He ducked out of the room to see Hannah shaping the ball of dough. “My thanks, Hannah. If anyone should ask for me, I shall likely return within an hour or so.”
“Where are you going, Your Grace?”
“I’m going to see if I can’t find a fine tree for the drawing room.”
The cook’s face lit up. “Oh, lovely. The duchess didn’t want to pay to have one brought in and none of us have had the chance. I hear they’re quite high fashion in London now.”
“Yes, and in Germany and France. They always tend to do these things first.”
“If I finish up these pastries in time, I shall string some berries and there’s some small candles and holders in there somewhere.” She thrust a white finger towards the storage room. “Oh, if only we had children coming. I could wrap up some sweetmeats to hang.”
He grinned. “That sounds a grand idea and I wouldn’t complain about there being some sweetmeats.”
Hannah gave him an indulgent smile and he felt about seven again. “And the duchess may have some ribbon scraps. I am sure she would love to help.”
His smile dropped. Damnation, if he was to seduce his wife, the idea of her helping with something should not terrify him so. The trouble was, he feared getting angry around her and he feared making a bumbling idiot of himself.
He strode off and found the butler waiting for him in the hall with his thick coat, hat and scarf. He ignored the hat—it would only hinder him—but stuffed his arms into the coat and wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck. He passed over the axe to a stony-faced Hampton and pulled his gloves from his pockets to put them on before retrieving the axe and offering a jaunty salute to the grim man.
“Toodle pip, Hampton.”
Alex could not help but grin to himself at the butler’s bemused expression. He trudged out into the increasing snow and watched his breath puff into the air for a few moments.
When he was far enough away from the castle, he turned to eye the building. His gaze naturally drifted to her window but he saw her curtains were still drawn. It should not have done, but it annoyed him she had moved into his mother’s old bedroom. In spite of them hardly knowing one another when they married, he’d hoped they would have a better relationship than his mother and father.
It seemed history was to repeat itself. Except his wife was the one with a lover instead of himself. His father had taken many mistresses and Alex vowed he would always be faithful to his wife, no matter what. It hadn’t been easy. He had met many beautiful women this past year on his travels, but none quite like Emma.
The way she bit her lips and stared at him all wide-eyed didn’t pass his notice last night. Had she realised he lusted after her? That the sight of her nipples pressed against that thin cotton, and the feel of her waist beneath his hands had made him rock hard? He suspected he’d scared her. It would not surprise him after all his terrible attempts at bedding her. She probably feared he would take her to bed and she’d have to suffer him.
So how in the devil was he going to persuade her to let him bed her enough times to get her with child? And how was he going to make it better for her? He’d learned a few things in his time away in the Alps—a product of listening to the talk of drunk men mostly. But could he put anything into practice?
He couldn’t help but wonder if he should not have lost his virginity to a whore rather than his wife. Or even just found someone to teach him a few things while he’d been away, but he refused to be like his father and climbing mountains and travelling for the past year hardly left him much time for more, er, sordid activities.
His breaths came thick and fast as he made his way over the hills surrounding the castle. The snow had begun to fall more heavily and was past his ankles now. His leather boots protected his feet well enough and he wore thick woollen socks but he had not seen snow like this since being in the Alps. His ears began to hurt and he tugged up the scarf to protect his face. Perhaps he should have dug out some of his proper mountaineering attire.
The tips of the trees came into view once he made it over the next hill. Like splashes of dark green against a blank canvas, they dotted the snowy landscape for almost as far as the eye could see. He hoped there were some young trees that would fit well into the drawing room.
Alex propped the axe on his shoulder and started down the slope to the edge of the woods. He might not be able to seduce his own wife, but chopping trees—or anything that involved physical activity—he was good at. If he could master mountains and the outdoors, surely he could master his wife?
Chapter Four
The silence at Balmead never normally bothered Emma. But then she did not normally have a husband in residence. With only their limited amount of staff, the only sounds that accompanied her morning meal was the pop of the fire behind her and the patter of snow against the window. She peered out at the building snow and clinked her nails against her cup impatiently. Where was he and what was taking him so long? She should have braved seeing him first thing. How was she ever to entice him into her bed if she didn’t even spend time with him?
Emma sipped her tea and leaned back to peer out of the window once more. Snow was starting to pile up on the window ledge, obscuring her view so she stood and carried her cup of tea to the window to keep watch. She shook her head. All Mr Hampton has said was that he went out early with an axe. What did he need an axe for?
She tapped her foot and studied the white scenery. If there had been any evidence of the direction he had gone in, it had been obliterated by the heavy snowfall. What if he was injured or hurt? It didn’t matter that Alexander had spent a year climbing mountains in France or wherever else he had been, he could still be harmed. Her stomach churned and she discarded the cup on the carved bureau.
A flash of something on top of the hill made her heart flip. She rested her hands on the sill and pressed her nose to the window. Was it him? She couldn’t tell through the wet glass. Snatching her skirts in one hand, she raced to the door and hauled it open, heart thudding. Wind and snow whipped around her.
It was him. Emma released a long breath. She scowled and squinted through the heavy snowfall. What on earth was he carrying? He was a mere dark dot against the pristine white of the hills but he seemed to be pulling something behind him. As Alexander drew closer—at a frustratingly slow pace—it became clear he was dragging a tree. He had put her through all this worry for a tree! Honestly!
When he reached the door, he offered a wide grin. This time her heart flipped over in excitement. She didn’t think she had ever seen him smile like that. It made his already handsome face that much more enticing. Snow clung to his fair hair and had dampened the length of it, so much of it stuck to his face.
She stepped back to let Alexander drag in the huge tree. She squeaked and stumbled farther back as a branch threatened to trip her up.
“What is this?” she asked as he released the tree and shut the door.
“A tree.”
“I know but...”
“I wanted a tree.” He lifted a shoulder and unbuttoned his coat.
&nbs
p; She took his scarf from him and looked him over from head to toe. “You are soaked and you must be freezing.” She found Mr Hampton standing nearby and handed him the wet scarf. “Fetch His Grace some tea will you? Or hot cocoa.”
“Hot cocoa? I’m not a child.”
“No, but you’ve been out in the cold for hours. Come into the drawing room and get warm.”
“I should get the tree set up.”
“You will need a bucket and some sand first. Come and get warm, then we can worry about the tree.”
He stared at her for several moments, a crease appearing between his brows. Emma supposed she had never really told him what to do before, and a duke rarely had anyone tell him what to do. Still, she refused to spend her Christmas looking after a poorly duke and if she was to ever fall pregnant, she needed him in full health.
Emma took his arm and led him into the drawing room to sit him by the fire. He stared at her some more as she kneeled before him and began to draw off his soaked boots. Heat from the fire licked over her skin and further warmth flared inside, flooding her body when she glanced up at him.
With his hair darkened and curling around his face in damp tendrils, and drips trailing from his face down to his open collar, made her mouth turn dry. The collar of his shirt was damp too and almost transparent. His skin looked bronzed against it—no doubt he had gained the colour on his travels as she didn’t remember him being quite so sun-kissed before.
But while a flurry of sensation uncoiled inside her, none of it could be attributed to nerves as usual. As she placed his boots by the fire, courage began to fill her. This—taking care of someone—felt so natural. She so longed to be able to do the same for a child. Motherhood had long been her dream. Her parents were hardly models of parenthood and she was determined to do a better job.
Drawing a blanket from the back of one of the chairs, she came to put it around his shoulders, leaning over him to coax him forward. Alexander frowned at her but did as she bid. One of the footmen entered and placed a tray with steaming cups on the side as she finished tucking the blanket around him. She smiled her thanks and rose to hand a cup to Alexander.
A Lady’s Christmas Rake Page 16
