A Rake in Winter

by Jillian Eaton

  “I do not think she is.” This came from Nicola, a dark-haired, blue-eyed English rose with a curvaceous body and a small, breathy voice that set men back on their heels. “Look at Merry’s face. Her cheeks always give her away when she’s lying. They turn bright red as a turnip.”

  “Are turnips red? I always thought they were more purple.” Her temple furrowing in bemusement, Rosalind reached for her cup of tea and took a thoughtful sip. With her soft doe-eyes, fluttering dimples, and long blonde hair Rosalind possessed an ethereal sort of beauty that went hand in hand with her dreamy demeanor. “Or maybe they are red. Who knows? Either way, I believe Nicola is right. Merry is telling the truth, Evie, whether you like it or not.”

  “She cannot be.” Shaking her head from side to side, Evie pinched her lips together until they formed one long, bloodless line. “I refuse to believe it.”

  “And why is that?” Nicola challenged.

  Evie snorted. “Because it is Merry, of course.”

  “So?”

  “So do you really think our Merry kissed the Duke of Kendalwood?”

  “When you say it like that, it does sound rather unbelievable,” Rosalind agreed.

  Nicola frowned. “Well I for one think she is telling the truth.”

  As she listened to her friends discuss the validity of her secret rendezvous with the Duke of Kendalwood, Merry could not help but feel a tiny wave of annoyance. Mostly because if any one of them had said they’d been kissed by the duke in the stables their credibility would not have been doubted for a second, and little bit because she’d missed breakfast and her stomach was grumbling in protest. Were she at her own house she would have simply left the parlor and gotten some food, but being at Nicola’s residence dictated she rely on her hostess for sustenance.

  “Excuse me,” she interrupted. “But do you think we could get some crumpets to go with our tea?”

  “Goodness,” Nicola exclaimed in genuine surprise. “I nearly forgot you were still with us, Merry.”

  As it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to be overlooked, even by her very best friends, Merry merely shrugged and said, “Well, I am.” If she sounded a bit peckish it was because she was feeling a bit peckish. Would it have been too much to expect the women she trusted most in the entire world actually believe her when she confessed to being kissed by one of England’s most disreputable rakes?

  Apparently so.

  “Furthermore,” she continued sharply, “whether you believe it or not, Kendalwood did kiss me. And it wasn’t a kiss on the cheek, either! It was a right proper kiss, with tongue and everything.”

  “Oh my,” Rosalind murmured. Plucking a fan from a nearby table, she waved it rapidly in front of her face. “That sounds positively sinful.”

  “Ignore Evie.” Nicola smirked at the redhead. “She’s just jealous because the duke never paid her the time of day and she had to settle for an earl.”

  Evie stiffened in her chair. “I am not jealous.” When three different pairs of eyebrows lifted, she sighed and muttered, “Oh all right perhaps I am, but only a little bit. You know how competitive I can be.”

  “We certainly do,” Nicola and Rosalind chirped in unison.

  “Fine.” Spreading her arms apart in a gesture of peace, Evie met Merry’s gaze. “I believe you, darling. You know I do. As fantastical as it seems, you were kissed by the Duke of Kendalwood. I was wrong to doubt you.”

  It wasn’t a proper apology...but Merry knew it was as close as Evie was going to get, and she graciously accepted her admission with a solemn nod. “Thank you.”

  Nicola rang for a servant, and a few minutes later an entire platter of food was brought out. In addition to crumpets there was also a variety of meats, cheeses, and plump tarts filled with fresh fruit. Eying up a tart, Merry quickly whisked two onto her plate before the platter was passed to Evie who glanced at the cheese with a look of naked longing in her eyes before she nudged the platter along to Nicola without selecting so much as a sliver of salmon.

  “Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Rosalind asked, her voice muffled as she bit into a crumpet.

  “I am trying to watch my figure.” Sitting back on the settee, Evie crossed her arms and lifted her chin as though daring her friends to say anything. None of them did. They all knew the exacting demands Lady Longacre placed on her daughter and it wasn’t unusual for Evie to skip entire meals in the pursuit of physical perfection. Merry supposed it only went to show that no matter how wonderful someone’s life appeared on the outside, there was no telling what miseries they were hiding behind the curtains.

  “Tell us more about the Duke of Kendalwood,” said Nicola, her blue eyes bright with interest. “You did not spill wine on him again, did you?”

  “Oh my goodness.” Emitting a loud squeal of laughter, Rosalind abruptly covered her mouth with both hands. “I had nearly forgotten all about that!” she gasped through her fingers. “Remember how furious you were, Evie?”

  “Kendalwood was nothing more than a passing fascination,” said the redhead with an errant flip of her wrist.

  “Only because he would not give you the time of day,” Nicola muttered under her breath.

  Evie’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

  How volatile we are towards one another, Merry thought silently as her gaze darted from Evie to Nicola and back again. Then again, were all siblings not prone to fighting? And the four of them were nothing if not siblings. Their bond may have seemed strained at times, but when it came right down to it there was nothing they would not do for one other.

  Which was precisely why she’d insisted they all meet for tea.

  In the three days since she’d felt the heat of Kendalwood’s burning stare and learned the taste of his mouth, she had been unable to get him out of her mind. Every night she dreamed of him, and every morning she woke with his name on her lips. It was very distracting, not to mention inconvenient! With Christmas rapidly approaching there were a hundred other things she should have been concentrating on...and the duke was not one of them, no matter how piercing his eyes were or how captivating she’d found his embrace.

  Merry knew she was a fool for wasting a minute of her time on Kendalwood when there was absolutely no chance he was wasting so much as a second on her. The duke was renowned for his promiscuity and his list of past mistresses would have easily extended past Merry’s arm. She doubted he even remembered her name!

  And yet...

  And yet what if he did remember?

  He doesn’t, she told herself firmly. He doesn’t remember your name, and you should forget his!

  Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to refocus on the conversation at hand. Her friends were still discussing Kendalwood, although without any facts to substantiate their claims – Merry was the only one who had actually ever spent any length of time with the duke – they’d drifted into pure speculation.

  “...heard he is already married, but his wife is hideously ugly and refuses to be seen in public.” Absently tucking her slender ankles beneath the folds of her violet skirt in a childlike pose, Rosalind perched her chin in the palm of her hand and skewed her mouth to the side. “Or was that Lord Standish? I cannot remember.”

  “Lord Standish,” Nicola confirmed. “Kendalwood isn’t married, but word has it he is engaged.”

  “He his? To whom? And when? And – and to whom?” As a hard knot formed in her chest, Merry couldn’t seem to spit her questions out fast enough. Marriage to a hideous old crone she could ignore as fallacy but an engagement...an engagement she could believe.

  No doubt she’s beautiful as the sun, she thought with an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. With a musical laugh and a perfect complexion and glittering white teeth and gleaming blonde–

  “Merry, are you quite all right? Your cheeks are flushed and if you grasp that fork any harder I am afraid you will bend it in half,” Evie remarked mildly, even though there was an unmistakable glint of concern in her catlike gaze. As haughty and
condescending as she seemed on the surface, Evie cared deeply for those she loved and despite all of her cynicism and mocking derision she was always the first to come to her friend’s defense. Heaven help the person who even thought of doing any one of them harm. Evie had claws...and she knew precisely how to use them.

  “I – I am fine,” Merry said even as her gaze dropped to her lap and her fingers twisted together.

  “You do not seem fine,” Nicola said gently. “Tell us what is troubling you, sweetling.”

  “It is the Duke of Kendalwood, isn’t it?” Leaning back, Rosalind brought her heels to the edge of her chair and hugged her knees. “You have fallen in love with him.”

  If Merry’s cheeks had been flushed before, they were burning now. “I have not fallen in love with him,” she denied vehemently.

  “In like?” Evie suggested.

  “No, I–”

  “Do not lie,” she interrupted sternly. “We know you better than you know yourself, Merry Clearwater. Now tell the truth.”

  Merry’s heart sank. Was she really so foolish as to have fallen in love with the Duke of Kendalwood? The one man who would never have her even if his life depended on it? Oh, who was she attempting to trick? There were a hundred men who wouldn’t have her. The duke was merely at the top of a very long list.

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “Maybe I have.” Biting her bottom lip she drew it between her teeth, worrying the plump flesh back and forth before she burst out, “But only a little bit!”

  “A little bit is much better than a lot,” Rosalind said with a sage nod. “I love my husband a lot, and look where it has gotten me.” Unfortunately, it was no secret that Rosalind’s husband had a wandering eye and she was very unhappy in a marriage that had not yet seen the end of its second year.

  “This calls for something stronger than tea,” Nicola decided. “I shall be right back.” Standing in a graceful swirl of pale blue chiffon – her favorite color to wear as it brought out her eyes – she hurried from the parlor and returned a short while later with a decanter filled to the brim with dark red wine. “It is supposed to be for Christmas,” she confessed as she set the decanter down. “But no one will know if we have a little beforehand. Merry, be a dear and get four glasses out of the cabinet behind you. The ones with the long stems, if you will.”

  Under normal circumstances Merry would have declined the wine. She much preferred tea and hot chocolate to warm her stomach on a cold winter’s day, and on the rare occasions she did consume alcohol – even the tiniest amount – she always seemed to wake with a dreadful headache. But if there was ever a time to indulge in a bit of spirits it was now, especially after she’d just confessed her infatuation with the Duke of Kendalwood.

  Opening the cabinet, she selected four long stemmed glasses from amidst the crystal and fine china and carefully carried them over to Nicola.

  “Perfect,” her friend declared before she proceeded to fill each glass with a rather liberal amount of wine. Handing the first glass to Merry, she gave one to Rosalind, another to Evie, and kept the fourth for herself. “Well?” she said, one eyebrow arching. “What are you doing? Let’s stand and toast.”

  “What are we toasting?” Rosalind asked as she stepped around a side table and extended her glass of wine.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” said Evie.

  Rosalind blinked. “No.”

  “We are toasting the future Duchess of Kendalwood, you ninny.”

  Before Merry could open her mouth to object the clinking of crystal filled the air.

  And her fate was sealed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the subject of children

  “I find them delightful. Although puppies are remarkably cuter.” – Miss Merry Clearwater

  “Dreadful.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood

  He could not get the damn wench out of his mind.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Duke of Kendalwood stalked across his study to stare broodingly out the window at the falling snow. Raising his arm, he took a liberal sip of the scotch he’d been steadily drinking for the past five days. He was accustomed to using spirits to dull his thoughts when they grew particularly troublesome, but no matter how many decanters of his finest scotch he imbibed he could not forget Merry Clearwater’s face. Her wide blue eyes haunted his dreams and the memory of her sweet virgin lips left him aching for another taste.

  How ironic it was, Kendalwood reflected with a scowl, that a young lady who possessed none of the traits he found desirable would be the one to tie his bloody heart in knots.

  He’d known it would happen eventually. The men in his lineage may have been rogues and scoundrels and ne’er-do-wells, but when they fell in love they did so fiercely and all at once. His late father was testament to that, as was his father before him and his father before him. They’d all been arrogant men. Strong men. Coldly demanding men.

  Except when it came to their wives.

  They’d all had whores and mistresses, but the instant their eyes fell upon their fated mate they had forgone their vices and pledged themselves to loving one woman and one woman only for the rest of their lives.

  Some saw it as a gift.

  Kendalwood had always viewed it as more of a curse.

  Sleep with one woman for the rest of his bloody life? It was a fate worse than death. Or so he’d thought until a little awkward sparrow of a girl with a propensity for stuttering had captured his heart.

  What had he called her? Oh yes, he recalled with the vaguest hint of a grin.

  A little hen.

  He had called her a little brown hen.

  And she did resemble the winged farm animal, if only in the way her eyes darted about when she got nervous and her feathers fluffed up when she defended herself. He had to give her fair credit, however. Not many women – or men, for that matter – would have stood toe to toe with him and held their ground as well as Merry had. True, she’d stuttered and blushed all the while, but she had kept her feet firmly planted beneath her no matter how many cutting remarks he’d tossed her way.

  Remarks he now soundly regretted.

  Merry Clearwater may have been the epitome of a shy, forgotten wallflower, but there was strength beneath the flustered layers of self-doubt. Strength the likes Kendalwood had never encountered. There was also a genuine innocence about her; not the calculated kind he’d seen time and time again when women were trying to win his favor but the sort of innocence that radiated out from one’s very soul. It had called to him then and was calling to him still, no matter how many bottles of scotch he drank.

  Absently setting the empty glass on the sill, Kendalwood walked back across his study, his movements as lithe and restless as a panther’s. From the drawing room came a collection of voices raised in merriment. His entire family – mother, three sisters, and cousins all – had descended upon the ducal estate for Christmas and would not be leaving until a week into the New Year.

  As if he did not already have enough on his mind.

  When a particularly loud, gusty laugh echoed down the hall Kendalwood cringed and raked a hand through his thick hair, pulling the ends taut. Aunt Victoria must have gotten into the spiced ale again, which mean his presence would soon be required to make sure she did not attempt to slide down the master staircase as she had last December.

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the door to his study burst open to reveal his youngest sister Aurelia, her dark hair disheveled and her round cheeks flushed with color.

  “Jason!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “You have to come at once! Aunt Victoria is attempting to swing from the chandelier.”

  Bloody hell.

  “Lead the way,” he said grimly, taking care to shut and lock the door behind them. The last thing he needed was a nosey cousin rooting through his things. Little rascals. How many were there now? Eight? Ten? His various aunts and uncles were too prolific to keep count.

  Knowing his patience would be strained within a matter o
f seconds, Kendalwood schooled his expression to reveal little of what he was actually thinking as he followed his sister down a wide, curving hallway lined with paintings of equally somber-faced ancestors and into the drawing room.

  Situated at the west end of the manor, the drawing room overlooked rolling fields awash in white. The sun was just sinking into the distant horizon, causing slivers of orange and red light to dance across the newly fallen snow as though spilled from an artist’s brush. Inside the drawing room a fire crackled merrily in the hearth and candles were abundant, filling the air with the sweet scent of beeswax. Most of the furniture had been pushed to the side to make room for an enormous table filled with every imaginable sweet from chocolate fudge drizzled with jam to Marzipan candies molded into miniature pine trees.

  Spying a fat peach, Kendalwood nimbly grabbed it with his right hand and flipped it into his left before sinking his teeth into the luscious fruit. The peach had been grown out of season in one of the estate’s greenhouses, as had the apples, plums, and pears scattered about the table in colorful bowls.

  “Jason! There you are my darling.” Sweeping around the far edge of the table in a swirl of sapphire blue skirts and enough diamonds to sink a small ship – the Dowager Duchess of Kendalwood was renowned for her elaborate fashion sense – Cora took her son’s cheeks in both hands and squeezed.

  “Mother,” he said affectionately. Unlike most heirs who were shuffled off to be raised by tutors and governesses, Kendalwood had been brought up almost exclusively by the tiny woman standing before him. It was how she’d wanted it, and even though more than a few brows had been raised over the years when she showed up to social gathering after social gathering with her three children in tow, no one had ever dared say anything. She was, after all, married to one of the wealthiest men in all of England. Or so she had been until Kendalwood’s father succumbed to fever sickness two years ago and Jason had inherited the ducal title.