The Mistletoe Duke

by Sabrina York

  “Why are you dressed like that?” he snapped.

  “Like what?” she snapped back.

  He waved his hand at her outfit. “Like that?”

  “These are my clothes.” She tipped her chin and sniffed at him with a primness that only irritated him more.

  “She looks fine,” Mother said. “Come have some ratafia, Meg.”

  “She doesn’t look fine. She looks like…a companion.”

  Meg sent him a look, one he couldn’t quite translate. “I am a companion.”

  He pulled himself straighter and said haughtily, “We dress for dinner.”

  Her smile was frigid. “I am dressed.”

  “More dressed than she was last night,” Susana said, sotto voce.

  They both glared at her.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Mother asked. Thankfully, everyone ignored her.

  Jonathan simply plowed on. “You could at least wear something pretty.” It was a perfectly logical request.

  There was no reason for Meg to burst into tears.

  Again.

  He turned to his sister and bellowed, “What is she crying about?”

  Susana blinked. “Why ever are you asking me?”

  “You’re a woman. You understand each other. Don’t you?”

  Mother, who was sitting on the divan and taking all this in as though it were a play enacted for her private pleasure, suggested, “Why don’t you ask Meg?”

  Jonathan glanced at Christian for some male support, but he merely shrugged.

  So he turned to her. And he sighed. “Meg. Why are you crying?”

  She glared at him, though the tears, and then said in an emotionless voice, “I don’t have anything pretty.”

  That was all it took. His dudgeon deflated like a failed soufflé.

  Of course she didn’t have anything pretty. Cyril, the bastard, had confiscated all her gowns and jewels and sold them after George died. His mother had told him as much and he’d tut-tutted and made some offhand comment about what a bastard Cyril was and then promptly forgot about it.

  Well, hell. How could he fix this?

  He had no idea, so he just did what he wanted to do.

  He took her in his arms—again—and held her as she cried.

  This was becoming a disturbing trend.

  Although, if he were honest, he didn’t hate it.

  “Don’t cry, Meg,” he whispered to her. “We’ll get you something pretty.”

  She snorted wetly into his chest. “I don’t want anything pretty.” Which was clearly untrue, except that being contrary was apparently deeply imbedded in her nature.

  “Oh dear,” Mother said with such horror, they both turned to look at her, though Jonathan kept his arms firmly around Meg.

  “What?” Susana asked.

  “I just realized that the party is in two days and Meg hasn’t a thing to wear.”

  “I’ll take her to London tomorrow.” He didn’t know where the words came from. They just fell from his lips.

  Suddenly, it seemed like an excellent idea.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother said with a snort.

  Susana shook her head. “You’ll never get a seamstress now.”

  Mother shook her head as well. “Never.”

  “Why not?” That seemed terribly ridiculous. He was a duke, after all.

  Susana stood and came to Meg’s side. “It’s high season, that’s why. But never mind. I have a solution.” His sister took Meg’s arm, dried her tears, and tugged her toward the door.

  “Whatever are you doing?” Jonathan asked. “It’s time for dinner.”

  “No time for dinner,” Susana crowed. “Meg, you and I are about the same size and I brought far more dresses than I will ever wear. You and I are going to pilfer my wardrobe! Have cook send two trays to my room at once!”

  Jonathan watched them go—happy that Susana’s suggestion had seemed to delight Meg, and slightly annoyed that, once again, she wouldn’t be at family dinner, since this was the last one before the insanity began.

  But his feelings hardly mattered, didn’t they?

  He was only the duke.

  Chapter Four

  Susana’s wardrobe was a treasure trove. Meg did her best to swallow the acrid fact that she’d once had one just like it and was now reduced to begging for scraps. She focused instead on the fact that she was lucky to have such a generous friend. And the opportunity to wear beautiful dresses as well. That was wonderful.

  “Oh, this one!” Susana sighed, pulling out a beautiful sky blue frock with sequins stitched into the bodice. “It barely fits me now, since I’m increasing again, but it’s one of my favorites. I’m glad I brought it because it is perfect for your coloring.”

  It was. And, in a flurry of tulle, Meg eagerly tried it on. It was perfect. The blue brought out her eyes and made her shine. Or maybe that was simply her delight as she spun around and watched the skirt bell in the glass. It was a little tight in the bodice, but Susana insisted, with a wink, it was just right for someone on the hunt for a husband. There was another, a dark forest green, which would be perfect for the Christmas Eve supper and ball, and a lovely pink day dress.

  “I love you in these jewel tones,” Susana said and Meg laughed.

  “My last party frock was white.”

  Susana grinned. “We’re hardly debutantes now.”

  Yes. Hardly.

  When they were finished, Meg returned to her dark weeds and sighed. “That was fun,” she told her friend, who grinned.

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “I’m so appreciative. You’ve been so generous.”

  To her surprise, Susana stared at her, tears welling. Which caused Meg to tear up as well. “Meg, darling,” she said, opening her arms for a hug. “You deserve it. You’ve always been so generous with me. Even when we were children. Do you remember that time when you let me have the last cake at tea, after Jonathan and George swept in and tried to scarf them all up?”

  Meg had to chuckle. “No. I don’t.”

  Susana’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I do. And the time you gave me your doll, because I liked it. And— Oh, I could go on. You’re like a sister to me. A dear, dear sister. And I, for one, hate to see you moldering in Devon with Mama.”

  “I’m hardly moldering. Besides, I love your mother.”

  “I do too, but she doesn’t exactly live an exciting life.”

  “She…throws parties…”

  Susana snorted. “We both know, you throw those parties. She just tags along and makes speeches.”

  “They are very good speeches.”

  “That is a matter of opinion. And beside the point.”

  “And the point is?”

  “The point is, you deserve more in life. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And a husband who loves you. You deserve children. I’ve seen you with the boys. You are magnificent.”

  Meg focused on a pleat in her bombazine skirt. “I would love to have children…someday.”

  “Of course you would. And this party is a wonderful opportunity to scan the opportunities, as it were.”

  Yes. It would be. “Thanks to you.” She gave her friend another hug, then pulled back. “Do you know any of the men who are coming?”

  Susana’s brow furrowed. “I peeked at the guest list. Jonathan invited Richard Manning and Aiden St. Clare. They’re both very respectable.”

  Respectable? Not what she’d been thinking. She’d been thinking tall, dark, and just a trifle grumpy with a dazzling array of dimples when he smiled…

  “I’ve met Manning at the opera more than once,” Susana continued, unaware of Meg’s momentary mooning over an unreachable duke. “Do you like the opera?”

  “I’ve only been once,” Meg said. “It seemed…tedious. But I was young.”

  “Oh, it is tedious, but it’s fun to watch the crowd during the boring parts. If you and Manning go, Christian and I will go with you.”

  “That would be fun.”

&nb
sp; “Just think of it. If we both lived in London, we’d be in each other’s pockets again, just like when we were children.”

  “Oh, how I’d like that.” She’d sorely missed Susana—any female friendship. Well, female friendship her own age. She and the dowager rarely had similar tastes.

  “Me too. So here is the plan. This week, we will assess the possibilities and then go in for the kill. Yes?”

  How could she say no? “Of course, yes!”

  “Excellent!”

  Excellent in deed.

  * * *

  After she left Susana’s spacious quarters, Meg headed up to the nursery to tuck the girls in. Not because she had to—Susana’s governess was exceptional—but because she wanted to. She loved Lizzie and Vicca and had missed their antics because she’d been so busy for the past few days.

  They were in bed, but far from asleep, and they both leaped up with a hurrah! as she pushed into the room. She gave them each a hug and a kiss and asked what they’d been up to. What followed was a raucous recounting of their adventures with William and Christopher, Susana’s twins. As they shared the details, it occurred to Meg that she might want to have a chat with Susana’s governess. Surely she wasn’t aware of all of this. She certainly couldn’t have known that the four hooligans had built a fortress in the library. With books. Or that they’d figured out a way to snitch cakes and pies from cook’s pantry without being seen. Or the bit about the fire in the greenhouse.

  Honestly, the girls were becoming a bit too fascinated with fire for her liking. Perhaps Jonathan should be informed as well—

  And then, as though she’d conjured him with her thoughts, he was there in the doorway.

  “Papa!” Lizzie cried. “Come help Meg tuck us in.”

  He did. She watched, breathless, as he made his way across the darkened room, as perfect in form as a man could be. She tried to still her thudding heart and reminded herself to breathe. Oh, and force a casual smile.

  “I thought you were already tucked in,” he said in a deep raspy voice, lit with humor.

  Vicca made a face. “Not by you.”

  “It’s better if it’s you and Meg.”

  “Miss Ainsley doesn’t do it right.”

  “Doesn’t she?” The powerful duke went down on his knees between their beds and kissed them both, one after the other.

  “Exactly right,” Vicca said somberly.

  “Young girls need to be tucked in properly,” her twin added.

  “Good to know. Now, both of you, under the covers. Close your eyes. Time to sleep.”

  “We’re too excited to sleep,” Lizzie said.

  Vicca nodded. “The party starts tomorrow!”

  “That it does. So you both need your sleep. And…” He fixed them both with a dark scowl, which made them giggle. “I expect you both to be on your best behavior. All the mavens of society will be there.”

  “I thought Grandmamma was the maven of society.”

  Lizzie nodded. “That’s what she told us.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “She is. But all her maven friends will be there. And you need to understand that your behavior reflects on the entire Pembroke family. That is a great weight to bear.”

  The girls sobered and nodded, apparently listening to their father…for once.

  “It’s possible that I might even find you a new mama.”

  Oooh. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that, on account of the fact they were listening and all. They both made faces.

  “What if we don’t want a new mama?” Vicca asked.

  “Of course you do.”

  Lizzie shrugged. “We like Meg. Why don’t you just marry Meg?”

  A mortifying silence settled. Meg and Jonathan exchanged chagrined glances. Before Jonathan could answer, Meg forced a laugh. “Nonsense. Your papa needs a young wife.” She ignored his sharp glance. “She has to be able to keep up with you, after all.”

  Vicca pursed her lips and then nodded. “You are awfully old,” she told Meg.

  It was difficult to hold back a laugh. “Thank you.”

  “All right. Enough of this.” Jonathan pulled up their covers and tucked each one in with another kiss. “Go to sleep.”

  “Good night, my darlings,” Meg said as she stood to join Jonathan as he walked to the door. She hadn’t intended to, it just worked out that way.

  “Wait!” One of the twins cried as they reached the doorway. In tandem, they turned and looked back at the shadowed beds. “Look!” The twins both pointed above their heads, and they, perforce, looked up.

  Oh dear.

  It was mistletoe. Blast the dowager and her insistence that the stuff be scattered everywhere.

  “You have to kiss now,” one of the twins said. Meg suspected it was Vicca, the minx.

  She and Jonathan shared another chagrined glance. His shoulder lifted. “I suppose she’s right.”

  “Of course she’s right,” Meg said, struggling for a matter-of-fact expression, though her heart raced. “It is mistletoe.”

  “That it is.”

  “Do it!” their audience demanded.

  With a sigh that made clear this was an onerous task, Jonathan put his fingers to her cheek and tipped her face to his.

  Meg held her breath, which was unwise, because she was already a little giddy due to his closeness, and the dizzying scent of his cologne. She watched, breathless, as his head descended. She saw it then—just before their lips touched—his quirk of a smile. It warmed her heart.

  And then everything warmed, because his mouth was on hers, delicious and velvety smooth. It send a shard of hunger and delight through her. It made her want in a way she had never wanted before.

  Cold, bitter disappointment scored her as he pulled away, far too soon, but it was only to look into her eyes with an indecipherable expression…before he lowered his head again.

  This kiss was deeper. Sweeter. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, against his firm, perfect form as he explored her mouth.

  She was barely aware of the cheers from the peanut gallery, her mind was so utterly consumed with the delirious sensations flooding her. Thank God he was holding her, or she might have melted into an ignoble puddle right then and there.

  When he lifted his head for the second time, it was to stare at her with a quizzical expression she had no hope of understanding. But when he smiled at her, it was one of his teasing grins. The one a friend would offer in a mutually uncomfortable situation.

  And oh, uncomfortable she was.

  “Happy Christmas, Meg,” he said as he let her go.

  Her soul wailed as she did, but she steadied herself by leaning against the wall, and trying desperately not to look at him like a mooncalf. “H-happy Christmas, Jonathan,” she murmured.

  And then, with another “Good night” to the girls, he made his way to his rooms, without so much as a single glance back.

  Clearly the kiss hadn’t meant anything to him.

  Meg, however, was devastated.

  Chapter Five

  Jonathan tried to maintain an indifferent demeanor as he walked away from Meg, but damn. That had been the most amazing kiss of his life. It had been all he could do to not lay her down on the carpet and take her there, right in front of his daughters.

  Granted, he hadn’t kissed a woman like that for a long while. Since Tessa, probably.

  It had been a long time since he’d even wanted to.

  Of course, he hadn’t wanted to this evening. Not particularly. He’d been goaded into it by his children. But now that he had, now that he’d tasted Meg, experienced the soft delight of her mouth… Hell, now it was all he could think about.

  She’d always been a friend—a little sister—to him. He hadn’t thought about her in that way, most probably out of respect for his friend George. How had he never noticed how seductive she was? How sweet she smelled? How had he never truly thought about her as a woman?

  Well, he was thinking about her as a woman now, that was for cer
tain.

  And then, there was the comment she’d made, about being too old to marry him.

  What kind of nonsense was that? She was four and twenty. Hardly an old biddy, though she did kind of look old, in that baggy black frock she always wore. And her hair, up like that in a tight bun. Other than that one night when he’d found her with his children, it had been years since he’d seen it down. His fingers itched to—

  “Your Grace.”

  He stopped short, stunned to find Rodgers standing right before him. If his valet hadn’t spoken, he might have just plowed right into him.

  He adjusted his cuffs. “Yes, Rodgers?”

  “Two of your guests have arrived.”

  “Really?” So early? Jonathan lifted a brow.

  “Yes, sir. A Lord Mattingly and Lord St. Clare. They’re waiting for you in the billiard room.”

  Ah, excellent. Drinking partners. Just what he needed to smooth off the rough edges his unexpected encounter with Meg had engendered. “Put them in the west wing, please. Near my chambers. I will go and join them now.”

  Rodgers bowed and scuttled off to wherever valets went and, with a smile, Jonathan headed for the back of the house where his friends awaited him.

  * * *

  Jonathan grinned as he entered the billiard room to see his friends, and Christian, stripped down to their shirtsleeves, engaged in a game of billiards. They’d been friends since Eton, and he really liked them all. He’d been delighted when Susana and Christian met and hit it off straight away. Also, it was nice to have another man in the family—one closer than Inverness, at least—to back him up against all the females. Although he’d discovered, if pitted between Jonathan and Susana, Christian always chose Susana.

  As it should be, he supposed.

  St. Clare was tall and thin with sandy blond hair with a hint of red in the sunshine, and Mattingly was muscular and dark. They both had a wicked sense of humor and shared Jonathan’s political leanings, which was always helpful in a friendship.

  When they saw him, they all crowed a greeting and lifted their glasses.