Page 53 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“Damned heathen brats!” he exclaimed. And then, as she stood before him, staring in fright, he shouted again, “Infernal brats!”
“I beg your pardon,” Emma declared, and then horrified by what she’d done—by what had very nearly transpired in this room—she said, “Oh, Lord!”
He flung himself upright in the bed, exposing his very bare chest, and she squawked, “Oh G-God!” She stepped back fro the bed. “You’re indecent,” she exclaimed.
He gave her a forbearing glance. “In more ways than you realize!”
Emma suddenly couldn’t find her voice to speak. And yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to turn away, even knowing she should. She blushed furiously, her hand going to her mouth to conceal her tingling lips—the undeniable evidence of their kiss.
“You can thank your nieces and nephew for this!” he said scathingly. “They’ve stolen my clothing!” He gave her a long-suffering grimace, and then grunting in pain, reached to stroke his backside. “Damn near shattered my tail bone!”
Emma thought she would swoon at his declaration. Not to mention the sight of him so... so...au naturel—and so at ease with it, besides.
Her face heated furiously. “Oh, my,” she said once more (and looked askance, finally). “I... I shall have them returned at once,” she reassured. “I... I’m so sorry, Your Grace!” And with that, she turned and bolted from the room, shutting the door securely behind her.
Outside Lucien’s bedroom, trembling, Emma grasped the knob tightly, as though to hold him within. Only after it was clear he wouldn’t follow, did she release the door knob and race down the corridor.
Dear God! She couldn’t believe how much liberty she’d allowed him to take. She was so humiliated. Nor could she believe what the children had done to him.
And that kiss!
There was simply no telling what he would think of her now. So much for any show of dispassion on her part! At the mere thought of it all, Emma feared she would die with mortification.
Much as she loathed to, she sought out her brother and told him what had transpired—or most of what had transpired. She conveniently omitted the worst of the details. If her brother thought for a single instant that the duke had taken advantage, there would be the devil to pay—for both herself as well as the duke. While Andrew respected Lucien, for her honor he would have forfeited his own life. Or taken one. Emma could little bear either of those repercussions.
As furious as he was with the news, Andrew managed to hold himself together well enough to console her, but that only made Emma feel all the more reprehensible.
She didn’t feel outrage herself, and in fact, it occurred to her that she would probably do it again, and the realization made her dizzy all over again.
Clearly, she couldn’t be trusted with the man and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
With his usual aplomb, Andrew assured her that he would deal with the matter directly, and he did, upbraiding the children at once. No one spoke of the ordeal the rest of the day, and Emma busied herself preparing the gifts she would distribute on Christmas morn. After all, tomorrow was Christmas Eve and she had been so preoccupied that she had nearly left all her tasks undone.
By afternoon, as far as anyone knew, the duke finally departed the manor, for he was nowhere to be found, and one of her brother’s mounts turned up missing besides. Though Emma told herself she was grateful to have been spared a final confrontation with him, she had never felt more bereft in all her life. Not even her mother’s and father’s deaths compared, for while she missed them horribly, at least they had left her with the memory of their love. Lucien Morgen, on the other hand, had heartlessly given her the smallest sampling of what she would never have... and then he had cruelly snatched it away, making a terrible lie of her pretense. Hah! She not only cared that he had forsaken her, but it rent her heart to shreds to know that she had dared to hope yet again. It didn’t matter that no one but she and the duke knew what had really transpired in that room.
She knew.
And he knew.
And the despicable truth was that she had apparently never reclaimed her heart to begin with. That was clear to the bone.
Nevertheless, she intended to make the best of the holiday for the children’s sake. She intended to be joyous if the effort killed her.
* * *
Lucien spentthe day in the village, submersed in drink, numbing the pain in his arse and the deeper one in his heart, fortifying his decision to leave with every sensible argument he could possibly conceive.
In truth, he was no good for her. He was certain to break her heart again at the first opportunity for, despite his noble title, he was as base as they came. Like his father, he imbibed too much, consorted with women too much, and was self-indulgent. Worst of all, he didn’t have the slightest notion what it was to love someone—not even himself.
As he slipped inside the house, the sound of the pianoforte keys chinked like hallowed bells, ringing throughout. Lucien could almost imagine the accompaniment of an ancient harp.
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight
Enchanting.
Magical.
