Chapter Two
On the Second Day of Christmas
My True Love Gave to Me
Glances Toward our Undoing
Alexander Hunt, Eighth Duke of Berresford, had no idea how the hell the woman before him had transformed so utterly in the passing of mere moments. Miss Grey… No, Miss Flint stood before him, blue eyes alight, touched by the flames of the fire, her golden hair almost silver.
Her appearance hadn’t changed, but everything else had. The way she held herself, the way she stood, the manner with which she boldly met his eyes with determination and suggestion, giving her a confidence that flamed his hunger for her from a small crackle to a mighty blaze. He angled his head, studying her. Weighing his next move. If this were a seduction, he had much to learn.
He knew everything and nothing about her. And he was not a man to launch into a bedding with no understanding of his companion. Stranger, he found himself desperately curious about her.
“Come with me,” he said, then without waiting to see if she’d follow, he turned from her and headed for the hallway.
Without looking back, he strode down the hall, his steps muffled by the boisterous sound of the piano and his drunken Christmas guests.
Despite his confidence that she would follow, his heart slammed in his chest, beating faster than it had in years. With something he hadn’t known in a decade.
Anticipation.
Would she truly lead him on this dance?
Alexander focused on the end of the hall, heading for the wide stairs that descended down to the marble arched foyer.
Anna Grey had been beautiful. Intriguing. Tempting. But ultimately he had forced himself to ignore his dangerous curiosity. Her beauty had stirred him, but he’d been unwilling to put his daughter’s governess at risk. One did not dally with a servant’s reputation, after all.
Adriana Flint, on the other hand? He fought the urge to glance back. To see if she followed. She was a dangerous siren, bidding him to his doom. But before the doom, the promise of sated hunger was there.
And satiation to the point of gluttony.
It had always been there, he realized. On the edges. It was why whenever she entered a room, he could feel her. Something had always rumbled inside him at her nearness. Now, he needn’t ignore it.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs; crossed the cavernous foyer; and stood at the towering, carved oaken door of his family castle, he paused and allowed himself to glance back.
She stood at the top of the stairs, her pale hands resting on the slightly swishing folds of her simple gown. The glow of soft candlelight touched her, more intimately than he ever had done, and he was jealous of the light. He longed to caress her skin as it so blatantly did, giving it warmth.
He clenched his jaw, holding still. Forcing himself to wait. How had she done this to him? To him? A man who’d never been controlled by desire, by emotion. But one offer from her lips, one promise of pleasure, and he’d thrown away all his strength.
For there was nothing else it could be. He should have sent her away. Now. Tonight. Far, far from his daughter and himself. Yet, he hadn’t.
Curiosity and the pulsing want he’d felt for her over this last year had broken all reason. She was a mystery he desperately wished to unfold. He knew her troubled past. Knew the scandal that surrounded her mother, the daughter of an earl, running off to the hells of London to be with her lover. His investigators had uncovered it all. But simply knowing such facts was not enough for him. Not anymore.
How had such things shaped Adriana?
As she stared down upon him, the strangest, softest expression eased her features. It wasn’t a smile. It was something else.
It was knowing.
She knew how much he wanted her.
But she had no idea how far he’d go to protect what he loved. And so, first he had to find out how dark her soul was. Or was she merely lost, like he had often felt, desperate to find a place in this often chaotic world?
She had been correct. It would be cruel to Georgiana to sever such a close bond so abruptly. His daughter had known so few people who had shown her care. But as much as he longed to know Adriana, he could hardly countenance the possibility that he would let her stay.
If he kept her as his mistress he’d send her to London, where his very foolish heart could give her the protection she had clearly never known.
“Your Grace,” Smithers called. The butler emerged from the shadows, his brow furrowed as the older man snuck a quick look up toward Miss Flint.
Alexander leaned ever so slightly toward the older man and whispered, “Have blankets, hot wine, and grapes sent to the grove. Immediately.”
The butler blinked, his sharp eyes suddenly crisp and cold as the snow slipping down outside. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said as he bowed then turned and retreated.
With that, Alexander opened the door, the heavy bolt clanking as he swung the thick panel out to the dark night. “Are you coming?”
Her eyes flared. “Out there?”
He stepped onto the pavement under the portico, allowing the glow of the lamp hanging above to illuminate him. “Are you afraid?”
“Of you?”
He tilted his head ever so slightly in confirmation. “You should be.”
She shook her head, those golden coils of hair caressing her neck as they struggled to break free of her austere coiffure. “Not of you.”
The cold saturated his evening jacket, chilling his skin, sliding into his bones. Into his heart. He had to keep his heart cold. If he didn’t the price was high. The cost was too dear, and he was not a man who would pay the price of a foolish heart.
Perhaps if he’d been a better man, he would have left her on those steps, strode out into the frigid night, and walked until he formed the resolve to cut her from his thoughts.
But he wasn’t a better man and he wouldn’t let her go today. Because something deep within him was driving him. Driving to know every facet of this woman.
It was Christmas. And in his experience, Christmas was the time for strange gifts and magical happenings. For such a thing to happen on such a day, he wouldn’t throw this path away. No, it was unfolding for some veiled reason.
Slowly, he raised his hand, lifting his gaze and meeting hers.
She descended the steps with a surprising slowness, as though each step she took required a deepening of her resolve. Yet, at last, she crossed the foyer. Silent. Full of purpose. Raised her own hand and slipped her small, delicate fingers into his.
For one perfect moment, everything was outside his command. His heart. His soul. His reason. He stared down into her eyes, blue and deep as bottomless pools, and longed to meet his doom in them. If he just gave up to her, surrendered, he would know bliss in those eyes and the touch of her soft, cool hands.
But he was a man who could never completely surrender. Not when so much was at stake.
Not even on Christmas.