you show me the wildness of passion and we speak freely and simply enjoy each other. Spend Christmas with me.”
Seemingly unmoved, he said, “Spend it with your brother.”
“We never spend it together . Oh, we’re in the same abode, but we’re like two ghosts wandering around a cold, abandoned palace.” She forced a smile, not wanting him to see the suffering that the years in such an unfeeling affair had caused her. “It’s a terrible affair. For once, I’d like to spend Christmas in the arms of someone rather than staring warily over the massive dinner table at my brother.”
“I spend Christmas with my son.”
“Oh.” She gulped. Here it was. Blatant admission of a secret child. She was stunned, to say the least, and suddenly she felt as if she’d invaded some sort of sacred territory. After all, most people spent Christmas with their families. Her Christmases had always been torture. She’d imagined a warm family Christmas but it seemed a distant dream and at last, upon meeting him she’d just thought how marvelous it might be to spend Christmas with someone who didn’t see the same miserable ghosts that she did in the same, bleak castle. “Oh. . . I. . .”
“Alright then,” he cut in suddenly, his sensual eyes roving her face as if attempting to read her thoughts. “Come spend it with us.”
“But your son?”
He gave her a rueful look. “We are a pair of misfits. You’ll fit in splendidly. Besides, he’s no stranger to a doxy.”
Doxy? Well, that was exactly the position she sought. “I beg your pardon?”
A proud yet mischievous grin curved his lips. “My son, dear lady, may be a shock to you. He frequently shocks me. And I am not easily shocked. He’s no boy. In many ways, he’s already a man.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it.” He leaned back ever so slightly and traced his fingers over her jaw. “I don’t promise you abject ruin. . . But I will promise you the education you so ardently seek.”
“Marvelous,” she said. Then before she could think, she added, “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned softly. “In fact, I’ll have you cursing me by the end. I always do.”
“I do like a few well-placed curses.”
“Oh Lady Ros, you’ve no idea. No idea at all.”
Chapter 7
Rosamund stepped down from the coach into the beautifully appointed stone courtyard which protected the surprisingly small manor house from the buffeting western wind. She hadn't realized that the journey would be so far. Days. Days to her sublime ruin. Days to fantasize. The Duke of Aston had promised that he would follow soon and that traveling together was simply an impossibility. This she had agreed with. Because while she sought a life beyond the hallowed halls of the ton , she didn’t wish to be a total idiot and announce it loudly to the world.
The ton allowed for almost anything that was kept quiet. So quiet, she would keep it.
So, it was better she travel alone. Well not entirely alone. Her maid, Maeve, was with her.
Maeve stepped down behind her and sniffed. "This is it?”
She gazed around, understanding her maid’s meaning. It was not ramshackle but nor was it. . . Well. . . Ducal. ”It certainly doesn't seem to be the sort of place the Duke of Aston would reside, does it?”
"One did think he'd live a bit grander.”
Dukes, after all, were supposed to live in massive homes. But then again, this wasn't his ducal seat. This was but one of his many homes.
The home where he liked to spend Christmas with his son.
It was still a trifle odd to her that she was going to meet Aston's illegitimate son. It seemed far more intimate than anything he'd approve of but apparently threats of the miller's son had done the trick. She wasn't certain if she would have gone through with the threats. She was determined to live a life of more. But staying in the Highlands was no guarantee that such a thing could possibly occur. In fact, as much as she loved her home, she knew that if
Seemingly unmoved, he said, “Spend it with your brother.”
“We never spend it together . Oh, we’re in the same abode, but we’re like two ghosts wandering around a cold, abandoned palace.” She forced a smile, not wanting him to see the suffering that the years in such an unfeeling affair had caused her. “It’s a terrible affair. For once, I’d like to spend Christmas in the arms of someone rather than staring warily over the massive dinner table at my brother.”
“I spend Christmas with my son.”
“Oh.” She gulped. Here it was. Blatant admission of a secret child. She was stunned, to say the least, and suddenly she felt as if she’d invaded some sort of sacred territory. After all, most people spent Christmas with their families. Her Christmases had always been torture. She’d imagined a warm family Christmas but it seemed a distant dream and at last, upon meeting him she’d just thought how marvelous it might be to spend Christmas with someone who didn’t see the same miserable ghosts that she did in the same, bleak castle. “Oh. . . I. . .”
“Alright then,” he cut in suddenly, his sensual eyes roving her face as if attempting to read her thoughts. “Come spend it with us.”
“But your son?”
He gave her a rueful look. “We are a pair of misfits. You’ll fit in splendidly. Besides, he’s no stranger to a doxy.”
Doxy? Well, that was exactly the position she sought. “I beg your pardon?”
A proud yet mischievous grin curved his lips. “My son, dear lady, may be a shock to you. He frequently shocks me. And I am not easily shocked. He’s no boy. In many ways, he’s already a man.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it.” He leaned back ever so slightly and traced his fingers over her jaw. “I don’t promise you abject ruin. . . But I will promise you the education you so ardently seek.”
“Marvelous,” she said. Then before she could think, she added, “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned softly. “In fact, I’ll have you cursing me by the end. I always do.”
“I do like a few well-placed curses.”
“Oh Lady Ros, you’ve no idea. No idea at all.”
Chapter 7
Rosamund stepped down from the coach into the beautifully appointed stone courtyard which protected the surprisingly small manor house from the buffeting western wind. She hadn't realized that the journey would be so far. Days. Days to her sublime ruin. Days to fantasize. The Duke of Aston had promised that he would follow soon and that traveling together was simply an impossibility. This she had agreed with. Because while she sought a life beyond the hallowed halls of the ton , she didn’t wish to be a total idiot and announce it loudly to the world.
The ton allowed for almost anything that was kept quiet. So quiet, she would keep it.
So, it was better she travel alone. Well not entirely alone. Her maid, Maeve, was with her.
Maeve stepped down behind her and sniffed. "This is it?”
She gazed around, understanding her maid’s meaning. It was not ramshackle but nor was it. . . Well. . . Ducal. ”It certainly doesn't seem to be the sort of place the Duke of Aston would reside, does it?”
"One did think he'd live a bit grander.”
Dukes, after all, were supposed to live in massive homes. But then again, this wasn't his ducal seat. This was but one of his many homes.
The home where he liked to spend Christmas with his son.
It was still a trifle odd to her that she was going to meet Aston's illegitimate son. It seemed far more intimate than anything he'd approve of but apparently threats of the miller's son had done the trick. She wasn't certain if she would have gone through with the threats. She was determined to live a life of more. But staying in the Highlands was no guarantee that such a thing could possibly occur. In fact, as much as she loved her home, she knew that if
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