A Christmas Surprise (17 page)

She held out her hands, feeling his warmth invade her body as his encircled hers.

“As you all are aware, besides starting a new tradition of having the annual Christmas ball held here, but to also announce the engagement of Lady Aleece to a gentleman of her parent’s choice,” he said, then added, “I am here to offer for Lady Aleece.”

A little surprised but enjoying every moment, Aleece wondered why the officers. A second later her question was answered.

She wasn’t surprised when he went down on one knee.

“Lady Aleece, as you have captured my heart, I have tasked these fellow Guardsmen to take you captive until we can be bound together in marriage.”

“My darling Thomas, Marquess of Langdonly, it will be my pleasure to be your wife.”

“I prayed that would be your answer, for I have obtained a special license, so we can wed now,” he announced, rising to his feet.

The roar of cheers and applause was close to deafening as people pushed closer to congratulate the couple. Fortunately, the Guardsmen were able to keep them back, only letting the Duke and Duchess of Carlisle and the Duke of Somerset near the couple.

To cement her commitment, Aleece wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his lips down of hers.

“Well, it would seem we are going to have a wedding,” Eleanor whispered into her daughter’s ear.

Not wanting to let her lips leave Thomas’s, Aleece broke the kiss and glanced over to her mother.

“Yes we do. Seems between what we are wearing and this, again the bar has been raised in the
bon ton
by the Carlisle and Somerset dukedoms.”

By then Aleece’s father along with Kenneth had joined the three. Standing between the men was the exceedingly nervous parish priest.

“Well, I see no reason to postpone the wedding any longer than necessary, and the good Reverend Gray said he would be honored to perform the ceremony here and now,” Aleece’s father announced so everyone could hear.

Ten minutes later, in front of the majority of the
ton
, a more relaxed Gray said, “I now pronounce you wife and husband.”

As the couple turned to the ensemble mass Horsfall pronounced, “It is my great honor to present the Marquess and Marchioness of Langdonly.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulatory hand pumps and slaps on Thomas’s back. Marchioness Langdonly was greeted with busses on the cheek, but couldn’t help but feel her face warm when she heard a few ribald comments tossed to her husband.

About the Author

It was from my parents that I developed a love for books. My father, a medieval scholar, collect-ed the works of Sir Walter Scott with The Lady of the Lake, then and now my favorite. My mother collect Thomas Hardy. No comment on him.

When I was in high school I use to infuriate my English teachers by wanting to write my way, not the way they taught the class. Needless to say, I didn’t quietly rebel and usually won my argument.

Later when I started writing, with a focus toward being published, I remembered what I’d learned in school. All, that is, except for commas which I still can’t figure out.

After much trial and a lot of errors I developed my own, I sincerely hope, unique style or voice. Of course, my style now includes writing parts of my books in a POV, which threw my editor for a loop until she realized that a collie was the hero of the stories.

Also from Astraea Press

Prologue

The magic of Christmas captivated Grace Hashiver each year. Yet as each year passed, she gave into the call of sleep and failed to wake in time to see Father Christmas. Tonight she was not making that same mistake. She softly tiptoed down the hardwood stairs without making a sound. This year she was a year older, a year wiser — she was eight. Her lace nightgown whispered against the wooden floor as she made it down the stairs and through the hall undetected.

The light was dim but brighter than usual from the extra candles her father always requested to stay lit all night on Christmas Eve. She took a deep breath and exhaled before tiptoeing to the parlor where the Christmas tree beckoned. After a quick glance behind her, she walked into the room, richly scented from the cedar boughs placed over the hearth. The tree had no presents, so she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't missed the magic. The fire crackled as she sat in the chair facing the tree and struggled to stay awake as time ticked forward.

Something poked at Grace. The incessant prodding pulled her from a blissful dream. A moment later she had the brief sensation of weightlessness until the floor broke her fall.

"What…" She began to pull her foggy mind into gear but paused, hearing a snicker. Ewan.

"What're you doin' on the floor, Gracie?"

"I wasn't on the floor 'til you poked me!" Grace whispered back in a voice that betrayed her intense fury.

"Were too. I saw you. Curled up like your mum's poodle."

"If anyone looks like a poodle, it's you, Ewan!" she said as she fumbled trying to pick herself up off the cold floor.

"I do not. Besides, boys can have curls just as easily as girls," he said with all the confidence his eleven years afforded him.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Grace asked, standing up and pushing her braids over her shoulder. "You've no manners, wandering around in the middle of the night." She shook a finger at him.

"Oh, and I guess you're better? You're here too, ya know." He crossed his arms and waited for her response in his usual arrogant fashion, tapping his toe.

"Yes, but I live here. You. Do. Not," she enunciated, crossing her arms as well as she leaned forward, squinting.

"True, but that means I'm your guest. You've gotta serve me." Ewan's chin tilted upward as he smiled at his own brilliance.

Grace widened her eyes. "Serve you? I'm not your maid. I doubt there's a maid that would willingly serve you — you… arrogant worm." Her anger increased as Ewan refused to be properly insulted — worse, he laughed at her efforts.

"Yep, that's the rules; you've gotta serve me. I'm your guest, so, I'd like you to move over so I can have this seat by the tree." He moved to sit down.

"No!" Grace shouted as she lunged for the chair.

He lunged at the same time, pushing her away. Grace tried to move him, but he was too strong, too big. The fury built inside Grace, causing her to look for a weapon or something to help her remove the miserable boy from the chair. She noticed her father's brandy. She rushed over to the side table, grabbed the decanter, and poured it on Ewan. Though not enough to get the chair wet, it was enough to soak his nightshirt. Ewan froze, giving Grace a glare that chilled her insides.

"What is going on here!" came a voice that made both Grace and Ewan gasp.

Ewan's eyes widened. Grace turned slowly and saw her father's bewildered expression. He took in the sight of Grace still holding his now empty brandy decanter, and Ewan soaked with its contents.

"He — he — he…" Grace tried to think fast, but all she could think about was how she simply just wanted Ewan gone. He had been a thorn in her side all week, teasing, pulling her hair, calling her awful names — and as of yet, she hadn't once bested him. So, Grace lied. "Papa, I told Ewan you wouldn't approve of him drinking your brandy, but well, he insisted and when I tried to take it away…"

She began to cry out of fear, knowing if she were caught in her lie, she'd be punished severely.

"Ewan!" Grace's father scolded.

"Sir, I never — I didn't — She—" Ewan sputtered as he stood pointing at Grace, trying to explain the truth.

"Ewan, you march to your room and change."

Ewan began to protest again, but Grace's father held up his hand to silence his efforts. "No. Not another word. We'll speak more about this in the morning. Your parents will surely have something to say about sneaking around a host's home and pilfering brandy."

Grace's father crossed his arms as he waited for Ewan to obey.

Ewan stood up and shot daggers at Grace before marching out of the room, leaving the smell of brandy in his wake.

"Sweetling, why don't you put down the decanter and head to bed? Why were you up, anyway?" her father asked gently as he took the decanter from her trembling hand.

"I… I wanted to see Father Christmas," Grace replied, still terrified he'd see through her falsehood and punish her.

"Ahh, I see." Winding his arms around her small frame he carried her off to bed.

"We'll see the magic in the morning," he replied as he tucked her in, kissing the end of her nose.

"All right, Papa." She watched him as he left, but couldn't sleep. Oh, Ewan was going to be so angry with her! Fear crept in her heart as she wondered how he'd retaliate. For if there was one thing she knew about Ewan, the future Duke of Greys, it was that he would get even someday.

Chapter One

"How's my pretty little liar tonight? Hmm?" Ewan Emmett, Duke of Greys asked.

"Delightful, now that I'm dancing with you, your grace." The false sweetness dripped from Lady Grace Hashiver's lips with practiced execution. Her wide mouth pulled into a sarcastic smile that was all too familiar.

He still loved to taunt and provoke her. Satisfaction settled in his chest at her reaction. "Ah, Grace, sarcasm does not become you."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's Lady Grace to you." She spoke with a defiant tilt of her chin.

"Most people are too intimidated to correct me. Tell me, where did I go wrong with you? A little humility, any semblance of respect from your lips would be manna from heaven. But I'm sure Hades would have to freeze over first?" he asked with a wicked grin, arching his eyebrow as he spoke the last words, knowing their truth.

"Ah, you're smarter than you let on, your grace," she mocked, beaming at him.

Unaffected, he continued with their banter. "Our little secret. After all, I wouldn't want to spoil the fun for all the blushing debutantes who only want me for my physique." Ewan waited for her prickly response. He knew how much she despised his teasing.

"Yes, well, some value looks over anything else, including manners," Grace shot back while she offered him a dismissive look and focused her attention on the other dancers.

"Ah, yes, the old 'manners' debate, but, we have digressed. Tell me, Grace dear, where did I go wrong with you? Haven't you the slightest tremble when I hold you in my arms, press myself close to you, lean down to whisper in your ear?" With a suppressed chuckle, he leaned down and pressed himself closer to her, teasing her with his legendary rakish charm, yet she never seemed the least bit affected.

Perhaps that was why he was able to remain such close friends with Grace over the years. She never took his advances seriously, and he was able to tease, torment, and play to his heart's content.

Yes, Grace never took him seriously, although a small part of his mind wondered what would happen if she did. In fact, a small part dared to hope for it, regardless of how he continued to silence the wild notion.

****

Indeed Grace was not as unaffected as she seemed. Ewan was a constant reminder of everything she wanted but could never have. Ever since her little lie — rather, a large lie, which had caused him unforgivable punishment — she had written him off as a possible suitor. But that didn't stop her heart from fluttering when he asked for a waltz at each gathering they both attended.

He had grown from the gangly eleven-year-old with too much confidence into a rake of the first order. If he even had the slightest idea that Grace dreamt of his wavy ebony hair, eyes the color of sapphire, and heart-stopping smile, he'd use it to his advantage, and she'd walk away ruined… in one way or another. So, to protect her heart and virtue, she reverted back into her eight-year-old attitudes, with the added benefit of an eighteen-year-old vocabulary.

Taking a silent breath and resisting the urge to lean closer as his head dropped down, she focused on the question and tried to come up with a witty reply. Her quick tongue had been her salvation in dealing with the notorious charm of the Duke of Greys.

"Ever since the summer you arrived to dinner clothed in a loincloth and a smile, I can't seem to be afraid." She looked at him in the eye, raising an eyebrow, and then allowed herself to be distracted from his handsome features by watching the swirling dancers. "I keep picturing that small boy with the scrawny legs whenever you smile at me, and I'm afraid, the mental image has stuck."

She tossed her head back to look at Ewan full in the face. "It is exceedingly difficult to be afraid of you when that is what I remember." She allowed her gaze to sweep him from head to foot and waited with a defiant glare.

****

Ewan grinned down at Grace, unaffected by her attempt at humbling him.

"I looked quite dashing," he stated.

"Dashing is exactly what you did. Too bad your attempted escape from your irate mother left you naked," she quipped back.

"A delightful sight, if I do say so myself. You should consider yourself blessed. Many a woman would be eager for such an intimate view," he remarked, impervious to her attempt at injuring his considerable ego.