How the Duke Stole Christmas: A Stolen Kisses Novella

by Alanna Lucas

  Patience could not imagine being jealous of either of her siblings, nor could she imagine how anyone could purposefully deceive another.

  Long silent seconds passed, and she wondered if she should apologize again.

  A moment later, Her Grace’s eyes brightened, and a wide smile softened her features. “Would you do me the honor of overseeing the decorating?”

  Patience opened and closed her mouth several times, too shocked by the request to do anything more. Her Grace raised a questioning brow waiting for her answer. “It…it wouldn’t be proper for me—I mean this is your home, and you’re a Duchess.”

  Her Grace laughed at Patience’s statement. “I wasn’t always a Duchess. And besides, this is my home and I would be most pleased it you would do me this favor. I am not getting any younger and I would most enjoy having the house look festive for once.”

  Patience tried to come up with another reason why she should decline. It just didn’t seem proper for her to assume such an important, and not to mention personal, role within the house. Her Grace gave her a sad sideways glance and Patience’s heart lurched. What harm could there be in decorating Castle Greystone? It’s not as if the Duke was going to grace them with his presence, and even if he did, she wanted to do this for Her Grace.

  With her mind made up, she said, “I promise I will make your home festive beyond your wildest imaginings.”

  Joy bubbled in Her Grace’s voice. “That is quite a promise. I should warn you, I have a grand imagination.” She clasped her hands together. “Now, what do we need to get started?”

  For the next several hours Patience organized servants and decorations.

  Her Grace had given Patience permission to decorate the Great Hall, music room, both parlors, and the entry hall, along with an army of servants at her disposal to achieve the task. She wanted everything to be perfect. This would be a Christmas to remember!

  She directed several servants assigned to help her with the mantle decorations. “Please, bring the greenery and ivy to the table and we’ll begin on the festoons.”

  She was thankful for the assistance; she could not achieve such a monumental task on her own. When she was a young girl, her family would spend the entire evening decorating their house together. She tightly wound a white ribbon around a spicy bundle of evergreens reflecting on bygone Christmases with her parents and Patrick and Parnell. After her mother passed away, the spirit of the season had died with her. Patience longed to bring that joy back.

  She’d thought after her brother had married and their prospects improved, she would experience some of that joy, but it constantly seemed to evade her.

  She dismissed those thoughts. There was much to be done and so little time.

  The table was overflowing with red and white silk ribbons, ivy, holly, garlands, and other fragrant greenery. She meticulously created bows to adorn the fireplaces and assembled decorative boughs.

  She braided long pieces of ivy and silky red ribbon together, just the way her mother had shown her when she was a little girl. She’d always wanted to be more like her mother, who had been kind and gentle, and with not an ounce of temper. Time and time again, Patience had proven her own temper got the better of her more often than she wanted to acknowledge.

  With great care, she weaved the decorative garland that would go across the mantle. She took two steps back and admired her work. This would be a lovely Christmas. The spirit of the season was slowly creeping its way into her soul. She had been feeling more alive here in the past few hours than she had in years. She wouldn’t think about the future, she would just enjoy the moment.

  “The house looks lovely.” The sound of Her Grace’s voice brought her out of her musings. There would be plenty of quiet hours in the still of night to contemplate her emotions. “I can’t remember when it looked so wonderfully festive.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. All that’s left is to bring in the Yule log.”

  “Your Grace is much too formal. In my home, please call me Clarice. We’ve spent a lovely day together, you’ve decorated my home, and we’ve become friends. We need not stand on ceremony.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. You’re a Duchess and I simply couldn’t. It simply would not be proper.”

  “I have a lovely name that I rarely get to hear anymore.” Her Grace leaned in and gave Patience a little wink. “One of the downsides to being a Duchess.”

  Patience began to protest again, but her words fell on deaf ears. “But…I…”

  Her Grace took Patience’s hand in hers and squeezed with more strength than she thought a woman of her age possessed. “I usually get my way,” she said with a teasing smile. “And besides, I wasn’t always a Duchess. I was born the daughter of a baron. Please. It would give me great pleasure if you would.”

  Patience knew some members of the ton did not stand on such formal protocol, but she was rather surprised that a Duchess would think this way. In the end, she did not believe this was an argument she would win. “I would be honored.”

  “Now that’s all settled, let’s have the men bring in the Yule log.”

  Castle Greystone rose proudly from a bluff, the rough countryside at its back mocking Greystone as he neared the house, memories flooding his mind; painful memories that had not died with the ones that had betrayed him.

  The walls around his heart, around his soul, stood firm. He would not let anyone penetrate those walls, especially after what occurred at Lady Trumble’s ball two months prior. For one brief moment, he’d believed he could let his guard down, that he could find happiness again. One waltz with a blue-eyed beauty had tempted him in a way he’d never thought possible.

  Not just a waltz. That moonlit kiss had been his undoing, but then…

  He had been festering for months over what had happened that evening. Between the gossip and whispers—and Miss Leybourne’s deceitfulness—he had found no peace. More than anything, he regretted arguing with his mother that very night. In the heat of the moment he’d spewed awful lies.

  “Mother, do whatever suits you. I just don’t care. I will not be returning to Castle Greystone. Not for Great Aunt June’s eightieth birthday celebration. Not even for Christmastide.” His spiteful words echoed in his ears as they ate away at him, one syllable at a time.

  Truth be told, he did care. That’s why he had to return home, to prove to her—and himself—that he could care. He knew she was just as hurt as he was, but he didn’t know how to make it better. It had always been simpler to keep his feelings buried deep and keep his distance.

  The wind whipped at his back, pushing him home as the rain pelted his face, jeering at his poor decision to embark on this journey on such a miserable day. But he had left himself no choice with all the procrastinating he’d done over the past week as to whether he should or should not come.

  Karl’s hooves sank in the slushy mud slowing their pace. He rubbed his mount’s saturated neck, urging him on. They would be at Castle Greystone within the hour and he would ensure the horse was well-rewarded.

  He’d just entered the stable yard when he was met by one of the stable lads. “Your Grace, we were not expecting…” His words came in short apologetic spurts.

  Greystone dismounted, tossed the reins to the groom, and stormed off to the house. The terrible weather and delayed arrival had put him in a foul mood. It was better for him not to speak rather than lash out. Since the hour was late, he would not disturb his mother tonight. Besides, after a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, he would be better company.

  The force of the wind pushed the door wide, revealing his rather shocked butler. “Your Grace,” Boris said, trying to contain his surprise.

  The moment he went into the entry hall he knew something was amiss, and it wasn’t just that he detested this house and all the memories within it that continued to taunt him. He inhaled deeply and was met with the crisp scent of evergreen. He detested Christmastide. He detested the whole damn season. He stormed in the direction of the odor, with
Boris on his heels.

  “We were not expecting…and Her Grace…”

  Greystone waved his hand to silence the butler. “Who did this?” He growled as he entered the Great Hall. He knew very well his mother would not go against his wishes and have the house decorated, not after all these years.

  Dread sank into his gut.

  Was she ill? That would be the only reason she would defy his wishes.

  He did not wait for Boris to respond. “I want it all taken down tonight. I do not want even a trace of mistletoe left behind.” His growl rumbled through the hall. He reached up and tore down a long garland. “All of it.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Greystone glared about the room. Every strand of ivy, every ribbon, every decoration goaded him, reminding him of all that he had lost.

  His eyes focused on a shimmering red ribbon perfectly tied around a garland draped across the large mantle. The image of a blonde-haired beauty with charcoal eyes flashed through his mind. A warm summer’s day, deep dimples, and a sweet smile still provoked him after all these years. He strolled to the mantle, grasped the red bow and ripped it down. Greenery, broken branches, and torn ribbon flitted to the floor. He did not want to remember.

  He stormed to the side table, pulled the stopper from the decanter, and poured a healthy serving of brandy. He downed the amber liquid in one burning swallow that settled into the depths of his stomach. He just wanted everything to go away, decorations and all.

  Chapter 4

  Christmas morning

  The moment sunlight filtered into her room, Patience wanted to run downstairs and see all the decorations in daylight. It took all her patience, which despite her name she did not possess in abundance, to wait until a decent hour to descend.

  Everything had looked so splendid bathed in the glow of candlelight the previous evening, she was certain it would be even more wonderful in the full light of day. Just thinking of how all the greenery looked against the pure white marble in the Great Hall was enough to make her giddy.

  After checking on her still sleeping aunt, she hurried toward the day parlor. She imagined the light filtering in, dancing against red and silver ribbons through the east facing windows, the sun warming the space on a cold winter’s day, and the fresh scent of pine wafting.

  Picking up her pace, she went toward the parlor. As she rounded the corner, she was met with…nothing.

  She edged into the room, torn by conflicting emotions. She blinked several times, hoping the sparse walls and empty mantle were just an awful trick of her imagination.

  Where had all the decorations gone? Her heart sank and for a brief moment she thought she would cry. What had happened? Had the Dowager Duchess of Greystone been robbed?

  That didn’t make any sense. Why would someone steal ivy, holly, and ribbon, but leave valuable figurines and paintings? Confusion laced every thought that coursed through her mind. She stepped further into the room. All that remained was a small scrap of silver ribbon.

  She’d bent down to pick it up when a fierce voice demanded, “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?”

  She instantly came to attention, her hand practically holding her pounding heart in her chest. She clutched the silver ribbon as she turned around. She steeled her nerves, prepared to argue with the intruder, only to come face to face with…her masked gentleman.

  It couldn’t be him. What was he doing here?

  Oh, no! Panic ruptured in her heart. She tried to find words—even one would suffice— but nothing. For the first time in her life, she was speechless.

  Recognition flashed in his eyes before he growled out. “I shall ask only once more.” The tall, imposing figure stepped closer.

  She felt like a fox trapped by a hound. She was still trying to wrap her thoughts around the presence of this man, but before reason sank in, Clarice stormed into the undecorated room.

  “What have you done, Theodore?”

  Theodore? This was Her Grace’s son? This brute was the Duke of Greystone? Suddenly Patience felt lightheaded and entirely out of sorts. Worse, her feet were heavy as stone.

  “Good morning, Mother,” His Grace said in a restrained tone laced with more sarcasm than Patience believed she’d ever heard. Clearly, it was not going to be a good morning.

  “What happened to all the decorations?” Clarice demanded.

  “Will you not return the greeting?”

  “Good morning, Theodore,” Clarice offered, matching her son’s sarcasm. “What have you done with my decorations?”

  “I ordered them to be taken down.” The Duke’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if the removal of decorations on Christmas Day was a normal occurrence.

  Patience stood and watched the episode unfold as if sitting in her brother’s box at the theatre, watching Othello.

  Clarice approached her son with a stern look on her face. She pointed one elegant finger at him as she ground out, “You cannot just walk in here and do whatever you want.”

  “This is my house and my decision. If I—”

  “Theodore.” Her Grace’s firm tone sent a chill down Patience’s spine. She did not want to witness what was certain to be a most ugly argument.

  As the Dowager Duchess continued to scold the Duke, Patience backed out of the room one careful step at a time. Guilt settled in her stomach. She had overseen the decorating and now mother and son were at odds with one another because of her.

  Only when Patience was safely away from the uncomfortable scene did she allow her mind to contemplate who the Duke of Greystone actually was.

  She trudged through the halls in a daze. It was him.

  What had she done to earn his wrath? Why had he disappeared before the unmasking? Surely, he remembered the kiss they’d shared? These and a thousand more questions swirled through her mind as reality stormed to the front of her thoughts. He was the elusive duke who rarely showed his face in polite society, and who was known for a trail of illustrious mistresses. Well, this was one woman who would not be fooled by him. Two could play at this game.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Greystone watched Miss Leybourne sneak out of the room like a common thief. He would not tolerate such behavior in his home. However, he couldn’t deal with her until he’d set things to rights with his mother.

  “Why is she here, Mother?”

  “Since you had informed me that you would not be here for Christmas, I invited my dearest friend, Lady Leybourne, for a visit.”

  “I understand why Lady Leybourne is here, but why is she here?” He growled as he pointed toward the open door. “What could a beautiful…” he stopped mid-sentence.

  Mother eyed him with curiosity. “Miss Leybourne is her niece.” Then added salt to his wound. “I thought it would be a pleasant change to not be alone at the castle.”

  Greystone ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Mother was heaping on the guilt this morning. He did not want to be angry with her but was quickly losing his patience. Shifting his stance, he tried to control the urge to get the hell away, to leave this place. But he did not want to disappoint his mother. He would have to find another way to deal with Miss Leybourne.

  “Why are you so angry?” Mother’s voice was calm, almost eerie. A direct contrast to all the painful memories that being in this house brought forth.

  “Why?” His voice rumbled through the white space. “Why do you insist on bringing up the past?”

  Mother took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his. “I don’t want to argue.”

  “What do you want?” Greystone said as he turned away from his mother’s penetrating stare. Coming home had been a mistake.

  “What any mother wants—for her children to be happy.” A soft hand caressed his shoulder.

  “I think it’s too late for that, Mother.”

  “Only if you believe it is.”

  He was about to make some sarcastic retort when he turned and glanced down into his mother’s sad eyes and changed his mind. He was at a l
oss for words. Anything he said would most likely hurt her, and he didn’t want to be the reason—yet again—for her unhappiness.

  Mother reached up and kissed his cheek. “It’s good to have you home.” She walked away, leaving him to contemplate her words. It was too late for him.

  Boxing Day

  Apart from his brief tirade the previous morning, Patience had not seen or heard anything more of His Grace and preferred it that way. Although she thought it inappropriate, Greystone had not attended church, nor had he joined them for Christmas dinner. His foul mood and disturbing removal of all the decorations had darkened the spirit of the season. But just because she had not seen His Grace did not mean that he did not affect her.

  If she stayed at Castle Greystone, she was bound to encounter him again. But no matter how much she wanted to immediately depart, she couldn’t. Aunt Agnes was not well enough to travel, and one thing was for certain, she would not leave without her aunt. She would just have to wait till her relative was well enough and then they would return to London, where she could forget the Duke of Greystone forever.

  With her mind made up, she went to inform Her Grace of her decision.

  She found her in the recently-undecorated day parlor, surrounded by dozens of beautifully wrapped gifts. “You’re just in time, Patience,” Her Grace said with a bright smile.

  “In time…for what, Your Grace?” She hesitated.

  “To assist me with handing out the gifts to the servants,” Her Grace began as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a guest to aid in this tradition. “And I thought the matter of my name was settled?” she teased.

  Patience’s mouth suddenly went dry. “Well…I thought since His Grace has arrived, it wouldn’t be—”

  “Never mind him,” Clarice said with a wave of her hand before changing the subject. “Besides bringing in the Yule log, this is my favorite part of Christmastide.”