Page 11 of The Gift of a Christmas Scandal

That he would leave her so soon felt like a terrible loss, and she swallowed, unsure, although happy to be offered the chance to ride. He took her hand, bowing, and her heart almost stopped in her breast. It was not just the warmth of his touch.

For, as he bowed over her hand, he pressed a folded note into her palm. Uncertainty stilled her, but his pressure was insistent. She closed her fingers over the paper, and, as he turned to bow over Mariel’s hand as well, slipped it into the pockets concealed in the skirts of her day gown.

Although its existence burned, driving her mad with curiosity, she did not, in the end, have a chance to read it until well after dinner, when she prepared for bed. She asked Lisbet to leave her dressed for now, saying that she would read for a while, and probably undress herself, as the gown she was wearing was constructed in such a way that she could undo its tiny buttons without assistance. After being assured that, if she needed help, Selina would call, Lisbet took herself to her own bed.

Once Lisbet was gone, Selina brought out the note, and carefully broke the plain seal. Once unfolded, the message was short, to the point, and unsigned, but the words were enough to set her heart racing.

‘I feel certain that I shall not be able to sleep, and will likely seek a book from the library an hour or more after midnight. Should I meet another there, conversation would be welcome.’

~~~~~

The library door shut behind her with a soft click, and the flickering light of her candle cast odd shadows across the shelves.

She had seen no one in the halls, thankfully. Her most improper assignation was, so far, a secret. She should not have come, she knew, this was folly, such risk to her reputation, and yet… she could not have stayed away. It did not occur to her, for even a moment, to be afraid of what the Duke might do. Somehow, she knew that she could trust him, that he was an honourable man.

Which fact did not in the least stop her from dreaming of kisses…

A small sound came to her, and she moved forward from the door. She found him in an alcove, where chairs and a couch were clustered around a small table, almost hidden between tall banks of bookshelves. He rose as he heard her soft footsteps, and came to meet her.

She licked her lips, suddenly uncertain, her heart thundering hard, and her breath coming short. In the minimal candle light, he looked dark, dangerous, as Mariel had said of him, and oh so exciting. Gently, without a word, he took the candle in its holder from her fingers, and set it on the table beside his own, before turning back to her. She stood, waiting, utterly unsure, as he came to her.

Their eyes met, and nothing seemed to matter but his presence. He reached out, and took her hands, drawing her gently to him. She went without hesitation, memories of her dreams mixing with the moment. She felt her body ache, low down in her belly, and between her legs, in a way that had only previously happened in those dreams – the dreams where the imaginary lover wore this man’s face. He cupped her cheek with one hand, and his touch heated her more than fire.

Then his lips came down upon hers as he slipped an arm around her waist, holding her close against the hardness of his body. The kiss was so different from that which she had experienced with Lord Egremont. The Duke’s lips were somehow soft, and yet hard and demanding at the same time. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, and the seam between them, softly probing, and she sighed, melting against him, feeling the evidence of his desire for her pressed against her, even as her aching breasts were crushed against the hard muscle of his chest.

The kiss seemed to last forever, and yet not long enough. She leant into it, growing braver, and allowing her tongue to explore his lips, his tongue, the warmth of his mouth. Never once did she feel pressured, or feel the need to pull away. It was, she thought, quite the most pleasure that she had ever felt in her life. Eventually though, he drew back, her cheek still cupped in one hand, and smiled. His voice was husky, rough with desire, and sent shivers down her spine.

“Lady Selina… I have wanted to do that from the moment that I first saw you. You would be in your rights to slap me for my impertinence, or to run from me screaming, yet I cannot bring myself to regret kissing you. Indeed, I find myself desiring to do far more than kiss you – but I will restrain myself. Come, let us sit, and indulge in that conversation I promised you.”

As she sank to the couch beside him, she found herself desiring more kisses, rather than words. But curiosity also drove her – what did he wish to speak of? She was not sure that she could focus on words, though, with his thigh brushing hers, his warmth so close. And focusing on his lips only made her desire kisses more.

“Lady Selina… I gather from your words when you arrived that you are being pressured to marry a man of your parents’ choice – a man whom you do not wish to marry?”

“Yes, Your Grace, you have the right of it. My parents wish me to marry the Earl of Hockingmoor. The lands of one of his estates adjoin Delmont Chase, and my father sees this as a good business arrangement. My mother thinks that I should be happy with a man who has a good title, a good fortune and is not a wastrel. But I find the man unbearably dull. Am I foolish to want more than that?”

“I do not think you foolish, although many might. I can relate to your feelings on the matter all too well. For I am in a similar, almost worse, dare I say it, predicament. I was always at odds with my father, and his response when I went to the Continent was to sign a marriage contract, binding me to Lady Phyllida Wormington, without even telling me. At the time, I was still not twenty-one, so he was able to create a binding contract. I find myself trapped. I have no wish to marry Lady Phyllida, but I am yet to discover a way out of that contract. And I only have another six weeks or less until the point at which the contract will be enforced.”

“Oh dear! But you are still in better situation than I, for my father has given an ultimatum – either I accept the Earl, or receive an offer from a man of the same or higher station, by Twelfth Night, or he will force me to marry Lord Hockingmoor. So you have whole weeks longer than I!”

As she spoke, she realised how darkly funny her words were – that they were speaking of mere weeks of further freedom as something momentous.

A small self-deprecating laugh escaped her, just as his face lit up with a rather sardonic smile – a smile which made him, if such a thing were possible, look even more handsome. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight. Moments later, his laughter joined hers.

“You make a good point, my Lady. But you, at least have a possible option – if you can find another man you like, and persuade him to offer for you. So far I, and my lawyer, have been unable to see any way in which I might escape. Well, any way except one that I am not sure I am ready to take.”

Selina eyed him curiously.

“And what way might that be, Your Grace?”

“The only way in which my lawyer thinks that I might successfully escape the contract is to besmirch my reputation in such a way that Lady Phyllida and her family would reject me, without damage to her reputation.”

“Oh – I am not sure that I understand – forgive me for my bluntness, but most women seem willing to overlook almost anything to be a Duchess.”

He laughed again, the warm rich sound touched with a bitter edge.

“You are correct, my Lady. Which is why the only way that would work would be if I were found in a compromising position, with a young woman of high station, and was therefore compelled to marry her.”

Selina looked at him, a little shocked at the idea of an intentional compromise. Yet it made sense.