How the Dukes Stole Christmas Read online

You’re the one I worry will dive off a cliff. When a notion takes you, there be no swaying you, miss. Such a headstrong lass I never did attend.

  Dive off a cliff, indeed. It wasn’t true, of course. She was the practical one. She might be headstrong, but she wasn’t one given to flighty thoughts or impulses. She had chalked the remarks up to the governess’s terrible judgment of character.

  Except this moment, right now . . . This was impulsive behavior. No denying that.

  Perhaps that governess had known her better than she knew herself.

  This was reckless and completely out of character, but she’d already decided it might be her only chance. One time to surrender. One time she would always remember.

  One time for her blood to sing. Already the faint light of dawn crept in around the thick damask curtains. Soon the light of day would be upon them and it would not be so easy to forget or pretend.

  She felt his manhood, hard and jutting against her hip. She knew what it was. What it meant. She was a great reader of histories and scientific texts and that included the medical texts in Papa’s library. Reading material she was certain would scandalize Mama if she only knew.

  He ground against her and she couldn’t stop herself from turning and rotating so that his hardness brushed the apex of her thighs. She didn’t even want to stop. In the name of research, she had to explore this further. She craved that hardness right . . . there. She moaned softly as she pressed into him.

  Just because she’d kissed a few boys didn’t mean she had experience with matters of the flesh. Although, as she arched closer to Calder, she supposed she shouldn’t underestimate the power of instinct.

  With a move that ripped the air from her lips, he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him and settling her astride him.

  She gasped and dropped her hands to his broad shoulders, steadying herself. The counterpane slid to her waist, leaving her exposed.

  His deep blue eyes swept over her, taking in her full nudity before resting on her small breasts.

  Self-consciousness seized her. Her sister Regan was quite well-endowed and liked to lord it over Annis and the others who were less developed. Annis’s lack of assets had never bothered her before now. Now she wanted to be more. More for him.

  She brought up her hands to shield herself, but he brushed them aside with a tsk. “No hiding these from me.”

  Then his hands covered her, his blunt-tipped fingers tweaking her nipples until they were hard and straining. She arched her spine, crying out and quite bewildered at the searing sensations shooting from her breasts directly to her core. She covered his hands with her own, exerting pressure, guiding him with that instinct that seemed to be serving her so well.

  His hands left her for a moment, and she whimpered in disappointment. He grasped her waist and adjusted her until she was sitting perfectly aligned with his manhood. Her mouth parted on a quick gasp.

  She felt every inch of him against her wet heat. Long and straining, pulsing at her opening but not breaching her. No, he made no move to do that. She held her breath, biting back further sounds as she gazed down at him.

  His eyes, hungry and dark, watched her, waiting, she sensed, for something from her. She waited, too.

  Until she couldn’t wait anymore.

  “Calder?” She heard the plaintive edge in her voice. She was afire. She started moving. Rocking on him. Grinding his hard length. The friction was delicious. A moan tripped her lips as she grew slippery.

  He muttered encouraging words, his hands roaming over her, touching, stroking until she was mindless. Pleasure burned in her, swelling and growing. She started shaking uncontrollably, pleas for something, for more, falling from her lips.

  A sob swelled in her chest, strangling in the back of her throat and suddenly her skin sizzled and snapped. She burst from the inside. For a moment her vision blurred. She could see nothing. Could only feel. Could only choke as ripples of pleasure rushed over her skin.

  Then she was on her back, Calder looming over her, his big body between her thighs. His muffled words reached her ears, but it took her a moment to digest. His burr had thickened in a way that made her skin shiver. “Och, you are a hot-blooded lass . . .”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly the door flung open and a cheerful exclamation rang out. “Up with ye! No lazing the day away!”

  Did no one knock in this infernal keep ever?

  She squeaked and tried to shrink more fully beneath Calder’s body. Thankfully he was a big brute of a man and shielded most of her from the woman’s view.

  “Impeccable timing,” he muttered so low she could scarcely make out the words. He twisted his neck to look at the older woman standing in the doorway. His shoulders dropped with a great exhale and there was disappointment laden in the sound—a disappointment she felt, too. This lovely escape had come to an end. “Good morning, Mrs. Benfiddy.”

  * * *

  After Calder politely requested her departure, Mrs. Benfiddy left so that they could dress. Nothing in the woman’s stoic expression revealed what she thought one way or another of her master in bed with a naked woman, which only led Annis to wonder if this was a regular occurrence. And that made her scowl. She didn’t want to be one of many. One of a slew of women to warm his bed.

  What do you want?

  Shaking her head, she finished dressing, averting her eyes from him even as she refused to answer that question—even to herself.

  To say the mood had fled between them would be an understatement. It didn’t take long for the embarrassment and self-recriminations to settle in. In the light of day, there was no pretending or hiding. She was Miss Annis Ballister, late of Bristol, now a resident of London and destined for the veil.

  She had plans. Her future was decided. She had decided it. Not her parents. Not society. Certainly not this duke. She could not change her mind. She could not be having doubts now. She wouldn’t . . .

  Her hands shook as she finished her last button. Her gaze caught on a plate on the nearby side table and she froze. “Wait. What’s that?”

  He followed her gaze to the plate of what looked like . . . biscuits.

  Biscuits! Her stomach knotted. NoNoNoNoNo.

  “Ah. Nothing. Just a plate of . . .” His voice faded.

  “Of what?” she quickly demanded, a sick sense of knowing making her stomach knot harder. When he held silent, she pointed at the plate, pressing for an answer. “Who left it here?”

  Still, he hesitated, his expression oddly blank.

  “Fenella did, didn’t she?” At his continued silence, she pressed, “Those are the biscuits? The magic biscuits?” Not that she believed in such rubbish. She was of a scientific mind. Yet it was highly coincidental . . .

  He shook his head with a sigh. “There’s no such thing as magic—”

  “Did you eat any?” It was vastly important for her to know. Suddenly his answer might be the most important thing ever. “Did you?”

  His gaze traveled her face before he slowly admitted, “I might have had . . . one.”

  “One,” she echoed, nodding. The knotting in her stomach gave way to nausea. He had eaten one of Fenella’s love biscuits before they had very nearly—

  She could not even think it. Not about what they had almost done. Not the chance timing of it all. As much as she rejected the idea of magic, this man’s sudden and ardent response to her was baffling. She had lived all her life in the shadows of far more beautiful sisters. Her feminine wiles were not so substantial.

  Perhaps there was something to this magical shortbread, after all.

  He chuckled. “Come now. You dinna think this has anything tae do with what you and I—”

  “I don’t know,” she cut him off, unwilling to hear him say the words. If she couldn’t think it, she certainly did not want to hear him give voice to it. “And yet it is coincidental.” Too coincidental.

  Now everything about what happened between them felt suspect. She had been the initiator. Sh
e woke him with roaming hands. If the biscuits truly possessed properties that served as some manner of aphrodisiac, then that, combined with her assertiveness, might have rendered him vulnerable. It shouldn’t matter since she was destined for the convent, but it still stung.

  “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong.” He reached for his boots. “Ridiculous even,” he flung out.

  She bristled, watching him tug on one boot, then the next. “You can’t claim to know me or my mind.”

  “You wear your thoughts and emotions plainly on your face, and right now you’re thinking Fenella’s foul biscuits made me—” He stopped abruptly, looked at her. Looked away again.

  Love. The word he wouldn’t say. Of course. Because that would be ridiculous.

  Emotion did not play into this—love did not. What they had done was physical. Frowning, she stared at his face. The sight sent flutters through her stomach. An ache started at the back of her throat.

  He couldn’t love her. Men could engage their bodies without engaging their hearts. She knew that. It was science. Biology. Like animals in the barnyard. He did not even want her here. And yet he’d acted like he wanted her here when they were in that bed together. There had been no derision or contempt from him then. He’d behaved as though she were his entire world. He’d behaved as a man obsessed—obsessed with her.

  She turned and glared distrustfully at the biscuits again. Perhaps they had cast some spell over him. Her chest ached to think that what had transpired between them had not been real—that it had been wholly one-sided on her part. As illusory as a dream.

  Humiliation burned in her throat. Her governess had been right. Annis had done just as she said and jumped off a cliff. She was lucky to have survived.

  She’d not make that mistake again.

  * * *

  Annis spent the rest of the day in bed. Not by choice, but every time she insisted she was fine, she was just pushed back down on the bed by old women who were a lot stronger than they looked.

  She was achingly conscious of the fact that it was the duke’s bed and that he had occupied it with her the night before—and they had done things there that she’d never imagined herself doing with any man. She had long settled into the idea that she would never marry. Now, in the light of day, the fact that she had engaged in such brazen behavior—and had justified it at the time—left her reeling.

  Annis had to get out of this room. What if he came back? What would he think if she was still lazing about in his bed?

  She flung back the counterpane and paced the large space, her skin itching with anxious energy. Even when he wasn’t here she imagined she could smell him—that hint of leather and wind and man.

  She took a bracing breath. In six months she would enter the abbey and begin her year of postulancy. She should not be thinking about him so much and imagining she could smell him everywhere. Feel him even now, when they were not touching.

  Especially after knowing he’d eaten Fenella’s wretched biscuits.

  The doubts were planted now. Even as irrational as they were, she could not shake them. She would always question his desire for her. She could never trust it. Never trust him. Not that it mattered, but—with a decided lack of promises between them—it felt bad. Crushing.

  Her gaze darted around the room anxiously. She would feel immensely better in a space that did not belong to him. She would be more herself then. Again.

  “What are ye doing out of bed?”

  The accusing question hung on the air as she swung around to stare at the irritated-looking woman in the doorway. She had not even heard the door open, but Fenella stood there, her eyes sharpening on Annis. “Ah, Fenella. I am fine—”

  “Nae. Back tae bed with ye.” Fenella propped her bony fists on her narrow hips.

  She shook her head stubbornly even as Fenella charged toward her. “I’m not staying one more moment in his bed.”

  “Tis more than likely he saved yer life, so stay that saucy tongue of yers,” Fenella reprimanded as she pushed Annis back down on the bed and rearranged the covers around her, tucking her in as though she were a child. Annis didn’t miss the sneaky glances she sent the plate of biscuits. A self-satisfied smile curled the old woman’s mouth as she eyed the crumbs, remnants of the one he had eaten.

  “I would like to be moved into one of the spare bedchambers.”

  “Ye should stay here where it’s more comfortable. This is the warmest room in the keep.”

  “Fenella.” She glared at the woman, quite aware of the game she was playing. Now Annis fully grasped what an expert manipulator she was. She’d baked her magic biscuits in the middle of the night and somehow managed to get the duke to eat one because she thought it would leave him lust-addled. “It is most unseemly. You must see that.”

  Fenella waved a gnarled hand dismissively. “Dinna be concerned with that anymore. Ye be well and truly compromised by anyone’s standards. Yer papa will force Sinclair’s hand, mark my words.”

  Her stomach dropped as she considered the veracity of that statement. If her parents were to learn of last night’s happenings . . . Heavens! Her hand flew to her already-unsettled stomach.

  If Mama knew, there would be no dissuading her from insisting Sinclair marry her. She’d begin organizing the wedding at once.

  She dropped her head back on the pillow. “You are right. I am ruined.” Yes, last night had not been a night for thinking things through fully, rationally, and now she could see that she was indeed compromised. A fact that could not be undone, nor as easily overlooked as she once believed. Circumstances, should they come to light, would dictate they wed, and one look at Fenella’s resolved expression told Annis that she would waste no time informing her parents of her lapse with Sinclair. Good thing a slightly besmirched reputation wouldn’t matter greatly as a nun. Convents were known to offer refuge to women with sullied reputations. She looked miserably at the plate beside the bed. The biscuits resembled rocks. “Why even bother addling the duke’s head with your biscuits then?”

  “Och, ’tis always better if yer happy and eager tae marry because ye believe yerself tae be in love and loved in turn.”

  Annis laughed weakly. “Funny. I did not think you were overly concerned with my happiness as you pressured the duke into bedding me.” Not that she believed in the magical power of love biscuits, but on the off chance . . .

  Fenella chuckled. “I suspect he was halfway already in love with ye before he ate the shortbread. I watched the sparks between the two of ye. ’Twas the same way of it with his parents, bless them both.” She quickly made the sign of the cross. “The biscuits simply hastened matters.” The old woman gathered up Annis’s lunch tray and moved toward the door. “I’ll have a maid prepare ye a bath. Ye will want tae look yer best when he returns this eve. He is busy today seeing that we are properly fortified against these rogues plaguing us.”

  “Thank you.” She would happily accept a bath. Even if she did not require to look her best for him. “And what of changing into another bedchamber?” she called out, unwilling to give up on that quest, but Fenella was already gone, the door thudding closed behind her.

  As promised, maids soon returned and poured steaming water into a hip bath with a high-angled back so she could actually recline. Annis declined their offer for assistance. Alone again, she stripped off her shift and sank into the steaming water of the copper tub with a sigh. After a moment, she leaned forward and dipped her head under the water’s surface to wet her hair.

  Reaching for the lavender-scented soap, she worked a lather between her hands and started on her hair, gradually moving on to the rest of her body until she was covered in bubbles and smelling of the fragrant soap. Using the full bucket sitting beside the tub, she doused herself with fresh water, rinsing off the soap.

  Sighing, she relaxed her neck on the lip of the tub.

  She wouldn’t linger long. Even if she was reassured Sinclair would not return until this evening, she needed to see about mo
ving into a different room and keeping as much distance from him as possible.

  Chapter Nine

  Calder spent the entire morning scouting the property and making certain Glencrainn was well fortified with no door, window, or exterior area vulnerable. After he had prepped the outside, he’d turned his attention to the interior of the keep. Two men worked beside him, searching for every potential weakness.

  It had been a long time since this castle had to face invaders, but now that he’d seen the brigands with his own eyes and knew they were well armed and a dozen strong, he intended to take every precaution. His staff was not trained in arms, but they outnumbered this foe, a fact he would use to his advantage.

  He remembered his father telling him stories of the castle and its long history. Of enemy clans attacking and how the Sinclairs had built a secret tunnel so that the family could escape in the event of an attack. The entrance to the tunnel was located in the kitchens. It was no longer a safe or viable means of passage, littered now with mostly crumbled rock and debris. Impassable or not, he’d barricaded it, several wide-eyed kitchen maids watching as they kneaded bread for the day’s meals.

  The tunnel was the stuff of local lore. The brigands could easily know or learn of its existence. He would leave nothing to chance and put none of his people at risk. The criminal mind was devious. If there was a crack in his defenses, they would find it. He stood back and gave the barrels stacked against the door a satisfied nod.

  He felt more at ease knowing he’d taken the necessary precautions to protect his home.

  “What ye doing there, Laird?”

  Sheila sidled up to him, swaying her hips and giving the flimsy cotton of her bodice a good tug so that the swells of her prodigious breasts were better on display. The redheaded lass had often sent him inviting looks. Mrs. Benfiddy frowned on the interaction and had voiced her disapproval in no uncertain terms.

  That lass is an ambitious one . . . has an eye on becoming the future lady of the castle.

  He’d always been on guard with Sheila, having no intention of marrying the lass, no matter how beautiful her face.