Chapter 6 #2
How could anyone tease him, make light of his circumstances, make light of her family, and then, in the next moment, be in awe of snow?
“I suppose we’ll all be stuck here then,” he said, folding his hands behind his back.
She tilted her head and laughed delightedly. “Poor you, the horror of it, being stuck in this house for Christmas! They will write novels about the great tragedy and misery of being stuck at the Duke of Westleigh’s.”
He snorted. “All right, I take your point. I am not unfortunate at all.”
“You’re not,” she said.
And with that, she slipped away from the cold window, her eyes sparkling. “Truly, I think this is going to be the best Christmas of my life so far.”
“Why in God’s name would you say that?” he challenged. “Because of a bit of snow?”
“Because,” she murmured, “of you.”
“Me?” he asked, stunned.
“Oh, yes, you are going to make this Christmas quite the experience for the entire family, but I promise I won’t tell a single person that you’re pretending, even though I don’t approve.”
“And what if I was to enjoy it?” he said softly.
“What?” she drawled playfully. “Christmas? Impossible. You dislike it so. That’s what you said.”
“Well, what if I enjoyed you?”
She sucked in a quick breath. “Well, that’s entirely your affair, isn’t it? I have no control over whether you enjoy me or don’t. I only know that I enjoy myself, and that’s enough for me. Thank you very much, Your Grace. Now, I really must depart.”
She gave a curtsy and started to retreat.
“Wait,” he called, still unable to let her go.
She did indeed wait, but she did not turn to face him, “Your Grace,” she said with a long sigh. “As much as I do enjoy your company, the dancing awaits.”
And he did not know what overcame him then, but he strode to her, took her hand, whirled her towards him, dipped her to the side, and took her mouth with his.
It was a fiery, bold kiss. A meeting of mouths and passion. A desire to show that even if he loathed the Christmas season, he could stoke the fire of desire deep inside her.
He tasted her and tasted the spiced punch. He wanted to drink deeply of her. To make her think of nothing but him. He teased her mouth with his tongue, then delved his tongue between her lips, teasing her body with the promise of what he longed to do with her.
He would drive all thoughts of dance and others out of her head.
Her hands slipped to his shoulders and then, oh so slowly, oh so passionately, oh so tenderly, as this was an entirely new terrain, one she had to find her way through, she began to kiss him back.
There in the firelit sitting room, as snow fell from the heavens, they kissed. Their breaths entwined, their bodies moved as one, and passion bloomed between them like a winter flower, determined to flower in the darkness.
At last he pulled back, for he wasn’t about to make love to her here. Though bloody hell, he wanted to. He wanted to take her to the floor and forget all the rules, all the reason he clung to, and claim her as his own so that she could never be taken from him.
But he wasn’t a scoundrel.
“My goodness,” she breathed, blinking as she seemed to come back down to earth from the heaven of their kiss. “You move far better than I thought possible.”
“Once, I liked dancing very much indeed,” he growled, shocked to admit it. “So, just because I don’t dance well now doesn’t mean I can’t dance.”
“We will have to do something about that.”
“There will be nothing done about it,” he said, “but I want you to know what I’m capable of. Come on then,” he said. “One more dance. Somehow,” he teased, “I shall bear it.”
“As will I, I suppose,” she teased back.
Phoebe followed him out to the ballroom, extremely overwhelmed which was quite a foreign state to her.
She had tried to save him from the mamas. She’d even tried to save him from himself. She thought that perhaps he needed time away.
So many of the people who’d come into the Briarwood family, or those born to the Briarwood family, sometimes needed to step away from company.
They couldn’t help it. She didn’t blame them.
She wasn’t that sort of person herself. She positively thrived on large groups and big parties.
She loved people even though they didn’t always love her in turn because, well, she was a bit odd.
It didn’t really bother her either way because she loved the dancing and the laughter and the music and the brightness of it all.
He seemed to tolerate it.
And tolerating life was such an unfortunate thing to do. Her grandmama and her mother and father had taught her many years ago, as well as her cousins and her uncles and her aunts, that life should never be tolerated.
Life should be quite curated. One had to work at it. One had to make the life one wanted, and here she was doing just that.
He might not have realized it, but that was now what she was doing. And her heart, her mind, all of her was picking him. If he would show her that she was truly what he wanted.
She’d looked across the ballroom and seen the duke, and she’d seen inside him.
For a single moment, she’d seen the real him, she was certain of it now. But he was so determined to keep that duke locked away. It was terribly unfortunate because she was no fool.
She did not have the time, the energy, or the intention of repairing someone who had no wish to make the attempt at healing such things. As a matter of fact, she had no wish to repair anyone at all. That was a fool’s errand.
If he, on the other hand, suddenly decided that he wished to turn a new leaf, she would happily help him. But she wasn’t going to make it her mission in life; that never worked. Her grandmama had made certain she knew that.
But with the feel of his hand in hers and the way he had kissed her, well, it was really quite difficult to turn away from him.
She took his offered hand, ready to head back to the ballroom and dance, even if he was like a wooden stick when he waltzed. He had other, more exciting attributes than dancing.
She winked at him. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about our little tête-à-tête in the sitting room.”
“Why?” he asked. “Would they make me marry you?”
She snorted. “First of all, that’s incredibly insulting to think that anyone should be made to marry me.”
He laughed before he winced. “You’re right. Forgive me. Horribly rude. It must be something you do to me because I am generally an excellent gentleman.”
“Oh, I do believe you,” she assured. “But I will tell you sometimes my family, members of it, and this house can turn people quite topsy-turvy.”
“Yes,” he said softly, “I can see that.”
She cleared her throat, ready to explain, even if he might not be. “I’m not going to tell them that you are here on pretense either because you don’t wish it. And, of course, if everyone knew that you’ve kissed me so deliciously? With my family the way they are…”
“Yes,” he prompted, clearly anticipating a grave in the back gardens.
She laughed. “They’ll assume that we’ll end up in the chapel on Christmas Day. There’s tradition and precedent for it, you know.”
He eyed her carefully. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really,” she breathed. “But they’d never ever force us to marry if we didn’t wish it. And I will never ever want you if you don’t want me. So no fears there, Your Grace.”
His want was clear upon his face, and in the way his eyes darkened and his sensual lips parted.
“I’m not afraid of an altar, Phoebe, but I’d never want to make you unhappy.”
She nodded, thinking of her brother’s warning. Surely, Laertes was just being an overprotective brother! Aside from his silliness about Christmas, the duke seemed the ideal mate.
Without another word, she led him back down the hall and into the ballroom. To her delight, the entire ballroom seemed to pause and notice their entrance.
He tensed. “Oh, dear God,” he said, “I am going to have to marry you. Or climb into my own grave when Laertes sees me. Or do you have a crypt? Will I have to pry open the doors?”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “No, you won’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t have it, not for anything. Not even as the greatest Christmas present ever.”
She wanted to be clear. Very, very clear and so she affirmed aloud what she had thought so intensely. “I have no interest in a duke who doesn’t want me, thank you very much.”
And then he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “What would ever make you think, Lady Phoebe, that I don’t want you? I want you very intensely, even though I probably shouldn’t.”
She’d seen his desire already. She knew he did want to bed her. But that was not the same as wanting her to be his wife, so she tsked and replied, “That’s even more insulting,” she said before she mocked, “What do you mean, ‘though I probably shouldn’t’?”
“Only because we are so very different,” he assured.
She gazed up into his eyes, looked into the electric sharpness of them, and whispered, “I don’t think you and I are different at all.”
And she meant it. He just couldn’t see it.
The Duke of Crestfield might think he was a logical man, distant from it all.
But she could see the truth. The Duke of Crestfield was an intensely passionate man, who felt more than most, but he refused to see it.
Maybe he couldn’t see it. Maybe he would never allow himself to.
But she could hope.
Because a man who could kiss her like that was a man she wanted for the rest of her life.