A Duchess For Christmas: Novella (The 12 Dukes 0f Christmas Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  A Duchess for Christmas

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  On the third day of Christmas…

  A Duchess for Christmas

  A Christmas Novella

  by Annabelle Felix

  One.

  “Absolutely not,” said Thomas Lacy, the third Duke of Barchester. His father had proposed the most outlandish proposal that had ever been proposed, and although Thomas was running short of funds, he was not going to marry Christine Duncharm — arrangement or not.

  His father was seething, but doing his best to hold back his wrath. “I have had enough of your frolicking and playing, Thomas. It is not right for my boy to be acting the way you are, and your mother and I have decided the best way to put an end to it is by having you married.”

  “I absolutely refuse—”

  “You can refuse nothing, boy,” his father said, slamming his fist down on the ancient oak desk. “It has all been arranged, plain and simple. My lawyer simply has a few legal matters to look over, but you are getting married, whether you like it or not.”

  This will not do, Thomas thought, finally beginning to panic.

  Everyone knew that Christine Duncharm was the most uncharming young woman in all of England. And not even young at this point — why, the old maid be at least two years his senior, generously. His father meant to bind them together? This was a new form of punishment.

  “You will have until the Christmas Gala to get things… sorted out with her. I want you to be as public as you can with the courtship, it will not be a shock when we announce it to the people on the day of the gala.”

  “Father, I must at least plead you to consider—”

  “Everything has been considered.” His father gave a bitter smile across the desk, and waved a hand in dismissal.

  Thomas stormed out of his father’s office, knowing there was nothing he could do about it, not if his father’s lawyers were involved. Yes, he could see where is father may have been growing concerned — he liked to partake in the finest pleasures England could offer, and when those resources ran out, he ran quickly over to France where the pleasures were far greater and far more tempting.

  He supposed it may have worried his father that he was beginning to dip into his funds a little more than not, that he was waking up later and later and staying out longer and longer to soak in the pleasures of the flesh. Drinking, women, gambling — he loved it all. The rush of never knowing what you were going to get was far too tempting for him to simply put it aside without a fight.

  And Christine Duncharm of all people! he thought, throwing on his outer coat and plunging himself into the cold. He needed to get away from his father’s suffocating house before he did something stupid and irrational.

  Everyone knew that her beauty would never shine through the permanent hawk-like glare she wore constantly, whether in the company of strangers or friends. His few attempts at wooing her had been met with only with a cold, bitter, continence from her part, not interested at all in the fun he had to offer.

  The most damning part was that as a younger man, only beginning to enjoy all life has to offer, he had a strange sort of attachment for the young Lady Duncharm. There was always something that had drawn him to her, always a part of her that had pushed him away.

  Thomas Lacy could get any woman to make love to him, but Christine Duncharm was as uncharming and as unforgiving as a column of stone. Never had he seen emotion other than distaste on her well composed features, and never had she shown him any more emotion than revulsion for him.

  And now he was expected to marry the woman who so taunted and spurred him? The only woman he had felt something for more than a fleeting attraction, more than an impulse of desire? No, this would not do. He simply would not allow this to be.

  The only way that he could get out of this was to make life hell enough for Miss Duncharm that she would beg to be released from this stupid arrangement of matrimony — and he could trust himself to get that right.

  No, there was no way in the world he would allow himself to be tied to such a vexing woman for all his life, even if there were ways he could enjoy pleasures outside of his marriage. Though he lead perhaps a more… roughish lifestyle than some, he always vowed he would be loyal to whomever he married.

  And he would have been loyal to Christine, and far more. But he couldn’t bear being denied her love every single day of the rest of his life, as he knew it would be if he married the insufferable woman.

  Two.

  Thomas looked about the crowded ballroom, seeking out the fair form of Christine Duncharm. When his eyes snagged on the woman in the most alluring velvet green dress, his heart did an annoying flip — he wasn’t within ten feet of her and his body already seemed to react in ways that would not be helpful for his current mission.

  He pushed his way through the crowds, making his way to his soon to be wife. She sat on a cushioned chair in the corner, her usual scowl taking over her features in the most unbecoming way. She looked at the dancers as if she disagreed with their joy, with their merriment, and Thomas instantly felt a well of disrespect for her.

  “You seem to be enjoying yourself, dear wife to be,” he hissed, sitting down in the chair next to her. He ignored the way she shifted her skirts arrogantly away from him, as if trying to put space between them. “Oh no, don’t bother yourself for propriety's sake, now that we’re engaged, we may as well begin acting like it—”

  “I refuse to allow you any more enjoyment out of this than you already have,” were her clipped words. “I know you dislike this as much as I do, and I intend to make this hell for you.”

  Thomas scoffed at the vulgar words coming out of such a fine lady, ignoring the flare of intrigue in his body. He had always been attracted to Christine, with her dark eyes and mature features. She was a striking woman, but it was her personality that had kept her from making a match in all of her twenty-seven years.

  “Good.” He downed his drink, setting it on the small table next to him. “Since we are of the same opinion, there is no reason for me to linger.”

  He moved from the chair, anger rushing through his veins. He had a feeling it was going to take much more than teasing irritation to get her to back away — knowing Christine, she would put herself through misery just for his sake. If she knew that she was making his life hell by staying engaged to him, the little minx would go right to the altar, just to spite him.

  * * *

  Father could have at least picked out an ugly wife, Thomas thought, taking another deep sip of brandy. He was far too many glasses in for polite society, and was going to make a fool of himself if he didn’t retire.

  If only Christine Duncharm was ugly, he could hate his father for arranging the match — but that was the thing, Christine was far from ugly. She was entirely too alluring, too exotic. Her skin had a touch of bronze, her eyes dark and tempting. He wondered what sort of a lover she would make, should she be willing.

  That wasn’t the point, however. He shouldn’t be thinking about if Christine Duncharm would make a willing lover, he should be reminding himself all of the reasons why he hated her, and continue with his plan to make her hate him just as much. With so many people loving him, he could afford to make a few enemies…

  Thomas watched the party die down around him, couples hanging on for the last few dances well into the night. The entire time, Christine simply sat in her own little corner, scaring any men or women away with he
r fierce glare. He watched as young men gathered up the courage to ask her to dance, only to be shamefully dismissed — he remembered being like those young hopeful men, desiring a hand with Christine Duncharm. He laughed at their foolishness.

  Around one-thirty, Christine finally gathered herself to retire for the night, leaving her seat. Thomas followed her figure with his eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to approach her, to catch her off guard. He followed her as she made her way through the halls, turning a few corners to make it appear as if he had stumbled upon her.

  “Ah, Christine.” He leaned against the wall, blocking her from moving with his body. Her nose gave an adorable flare of irritation, her eyes sharpening. “Fancy seeing you here.

  “What do you want, Your Grace?” she asked, staring him down. It was half exhilarating, half frightening to be pinned under that gaze. “Surely you did not wish to tempt me into your ever loving arms, or perhaps better for you, your bed of sin?”

  He shifted his body when she tried to brush past him, ignoring any thoughts or mentions of having the seductive woman in his bed. No, it was too much — he wouldn’t think of it.

  “Lady Duncharm,” he said through gritted teeth. “It is not worth putting yourself through misery simply to spite me. Give up and release yourself from the engagement, we both know it isn’t what we desire.”

  Those dazzling eyes flashed. “Who says I’m making myself miserable by putting myself in your company?”

  He was so shaken by the words that his body slackened, giving her just enough space to move past him, the hem of her skirt brushing against his legs. She didn’t look behind her as she walked deeper into the hall, darkness swallowing her entirely.

  Three.

  Thomas adjusted his cravat for the tenth time — he couldn’t get the knot right for some reason, and it was irritating the hell out of him. His normally steady hands shook as he ripped it off his throat, trying again.

  Ever since his father had made the most unhappy announcement of his betrothal, he had been in a constant state of irritability. Everything seemed to bother him, no matter how small, and what was worse, he couldn’t seem to get thoughts of Christine out of his head, no matter how he tried. She haunted him wherever she went, and he knew that was a bad sign. He couldn’t be trapped in a marriage with her, no matter how tempting those curves were.

  James, his valet, held up a coat behind him. Thomas shook his head into the mirror.

  “The black one, please.” He finished the last twists of the knot, at least a little satisfied, though it was hardly up to his usual standard.

  He brushed off his sleeves, straightening the layers of his vest and then held out his arms. The familiar weight of his coat did nothing to soothe him as he stepped out of his room and made his way to the stables.

  Usually, the thought of a good ride through town with his mare, Sugarlump, did him good, but nothing would soothe his nerves. It had been two weeks now since the arranged marriage had been placed in his lap and this afternoon would be spent with the good Lady Duncharm and her daughter, Christine.

  The thought of a few hours in their presence made him groan as he pulled himself onto his saddle, riding away. Unfortunately, the ride was only a few minutes, their townhouses being too close for his liking.

  “Thomas!” Lady Duncharm cried as he stepped into the parlor, reaching up for a kiss. The old woman was more than happy about the match and loved to tell him so. “How good it is to see you… Isn’t it Christine?”

  Thomas had avoided looking at Christine for as long as possible, but now it was entirely unavoidable. He took in the tall young woman, sitting upright on the couch. She set aside the book she was reading and held out her hand to be taken by his.

  He could feel Lady Duncharm’s raised eyebrows when he refused to kiss Christine’s hand, knowing it would do him no good. The rush of feelings that coursed through his body as he took her soft hand in his told him well enough that touching her more than necessary was a trap, and a trap that must be avoided.

  He sat in his usual chair, scowling. Lady Duncharm never seemed to notice his foul mood, or her own daughter’s mood for that matter, prattling on about tea and wedding details.

  “Now I know we haven’t set a date yet,” she said, woefully. “But I’m thinking about securing the church on Willowbend. My husband and I have been speaking with your parents, and we know that this is going to be the wedding of the year — well, next year I suppose — and we are sparing not a sixpence for the occasion. Isn’t that right, Christine?”

  Christine didn’t answer, the stately drawing room filled only with the sound of the large grandfather clock ticking entirely too slow in the background. Thomas did his best to avoid glancing at his watch, wondering how many unbearable hours were left.

  “Your Grace, I was just telling Christine before you came how you two should spend an evening at the theatre, wouldn’t that be great fun?” Lady Duncharm tried.

  Thomas smiled, pretending to enthusiastically agree. “That sounds wonderful, doesn’t it darling?” He glanced towards Christine and fought back a laugh. “In fact, there is a production this Saturday I was thinking of seeing myself… We could use the private box.”

  Lady Duncharm absolutely glowed under the suggestion, clapping her hands together. Christine rolled her eyes when her mother started on details of dress, and Thomas took a sip of tea, looking over at her from the brim of his cup.

  She was seething.

  Point for Thomas, he thought.

  “Well…” Lady Duncharm said, pretending to consider. “You know, I think I have just remembered there was something I needed to look into with my lady’s maid… A matter of great importance. I am sure that you will not mind being alone for the rest half hour?”

  “Not at all, your ladyship,” Thomas said, before Christine could open her mouth.

  Content with his answer, the all too eager mother quickly gathered her work up and hustled out of the room, leaving them alone in complete silence. Christine shuffled around for her book, breaking open the spine with a snap.

  “What are your reading?” He brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip of the bitter tea.

  “Crimson Parish,” she answered, not looking at him. “The Virgin’s Lover.”

  He nearly choked, setting his cup down on the table. “Sounds very… amusing.”

  Thomas despised reading with everything in him, but there was something about the suggestive title that intrigued him. She turned a crisp page, annoyance penetrating the room with the sound.

  “And what is it about?”

  Christine looked up with her book. “It’s about a rich young widow who decides to take a lover to practice her… skills.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And a fine young lady such as yourself is reading this?”

  “Yes.” She set the book down. “And in case you’re wondering, her lover ends up being a blood-thirsty vampyre who preys on her flesh as she sleeps.”

  Thomas was even more intrigued. “I must admit I strongly dislike reading, but I will have to acquire a piece of this… fiction for myself.”

  “You can’t,” she said simply. “It’s only available through select distributors. Crimson’s content falls on the more, shall we say scandalous side, and she’s banned throughout Europe. I went through a lot of trouble myself to find someone who would smuggle the books for me.”

  Thomas liked the idea of this, his Christine having a rogue side. There was something about it that made her all the more desirable, all the more—

  No, he wouldn’t continue with those thoughts.

  “Must you linger?” she asked, impatiently. “My mother won’t be in until you are gone. Please, leave, as it pains you so to sit here.”

  “Far from that,” he answered, honestly. It was different when he had Christine alone, without her mother. He was finding their banter far too exhilarating. “I believe I shall stay here my full half hour, thank you very much.”

  She slammed the book shut
in her lap, glaring at him. “Well, if you won’t leave then I will.”

  He jumped from the couch as she made her way to leave, not ready to feel the absence of her company. Careful not to touch her, he put an arm in her path, blocking her from leaving the room; she recoiled from his body as if he was the most repulsive creature on earth.

  “You are,” she said, and he realized he must have said the words out loud. “I hate you with every fiber in my body.”

  “Then break the engagement,” he said, careful not to raise his voice. Lady Duncharm did not need to hear them.

  “Why can’t you?” she asked, hotily. “You’re the man in this relationship, you can do whatever you please, whenever you please. If you hate me so much then you do it yourself.”

  “You misread me,” his voice lowered. He couldn’t help it, wanting to reach out and caress her soft skin with the tips of his fingers. “I do not hate you… And I assure you, were there any way for me to convince my father to break this arrangement, it would already be done.”

  “Good.” She shoved past him, and his pulse quickened with her fleeting touch. “Then just like me, you’re stuck.”

  She fluttered out of the drawing room with a flurry of skirts, and he caught the door before it slammed shut, notifying the entire household of their quarrel. His grip tightened on the tea cup he hadn't realized he had picked up again — such a fool he must have looked.

  A fresh wave of burning anger rushed through him at the insufferable girl and without realizing it, the teacup broke in his hand, shattering to the ground in a million pieces. He swept out of the room, leaving the entire mess behind him.

  Four.

  For the tenth time today, Thomas cursed the name of Christine Duncharm. Despite his anger as he left the Duncharm residence a couple days ago, he remembered to make some inquiries about this Crimson Parish — turning out to be much to his humiliation. Apparently, she was an author of classic gothic bodice rippers, a genre no respectable rogue would be caught with, and worse, you didn’t have to moonlight to get her books.