The Duke of Christmas Past (3 page)

Time never stopped, waited for no one. Just moved
forward like the hands on a clock, uncaring about what was left
behind. Second by second. Minute by minute. It could no sooner
return to the past any more than turning an hourglass over would
actually reset time or make it move backward.

Except in dreams. That's the only place where time
didn't exist but took the weary dreamer where he wanted to be…
sometimes where he didn't want to be.

When sleeping, every detail, every nuance, everything
that had happened that night constantly replayed in his mind.
Tortured him. And if he were being honest, the nightmare often
continued when he was awake. Yet in the end, everything always
remained unchanged. Logic reasoned that this time would be no
different. But his heart kept arguing,
What if it is? What if
you truly can change the past?

The jostling of the carriage as it moved toward the
Warren townhouse in Mayfair pulled him from his thoughts. Surely
the mind wasn't capable of creating the sensation that he was
bouncing about, jerking to and fro as the coach wheels struck the
occasional rut or stone in the road.

He glanced at the seat across from him, half
expecting to find it empty, yet not surprised at all when his gazed
landed on Delia. Head bent, she was searching for something inside
her reticule, humming softly. Already several of the pins holding
her hair in place had come loose and dark curls spilled over her
shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face.

Donovan had to check himself, ignore the inclination
to reach out and give a gentle tug on one of the ringlets as he'd
often done. Perhaps pull a bit harder as repayment for the
outrageous burgundy tailcoat he now wore. With a matching hat, no
less. He rolled his eyes.
Could be worse… could be the same bold
red as her dress—

Black… he'd worn black. He distinctly remembered
wearing a black tailcoat when he'd attended the Kringles' ball the
first time in 1812. He stared down as if looking at a ghost. His
ghost. The past duke — the other him — had been wearing a
wine-colored tailcoat.
This
tailcoat.

How is this possible? How can I be back in 1812?

Lost in his reflections, he didn't notice that the
carriage had stopped until the footman opened the door. With a
mixture of hopeful anticipation and anxious trepidation, he
alighted to assist Tess inside the coach.

Like his own brownstone, the Warren townhouse had a
wrought iron fence out front as well as on the second- and
third-floor balconies. Wooden columns painted white bracketed the
black door. He hadn't been back to her home… not since that night —
this
night.

Donovan kicked the carriage step, releasing some of
his frustration.

"I'll be sure to give the Kringles your regards,
Mama."

Tess!
Her singsong voice poured over him like
warmth from the sun.
Please let her be there, let me see her
beautiful face.
Donovan swung around. His heart skipped then
pounded rapidly, taking his breath away.

Her white satin pelisse fluttered ever so softly,
billowing out around her feet as she glided down the path. A golden
ribbon held her light-colored curls in place, a style that reminded
him of an angel's halo. And that's what the lovely creature
strolling toward him resembled. An ethereal being.

That feeling. That overwhelming, intoxicating feeling
that she was tugging on his heartstrings washed over him, leaving
him with the sensation he was floating. He had to check himself.
Refrain from running down the walk and scooping her up in his
arms.

How he'd missed spending the evenings with her,
playing chess, cribbage, and confiding in her some of the more
outrageous things being bet on at White's. Even placing a few
anonymous bets for her in the book.

He'd had no secrets from her — well, save one. Never
had he let her know his true feelings, that he wanted to spend his
life with no one but her, loved her deeply. Donovan wasn't even
sure when it had happened. One day he'd just realized she was his
world. Yet he'd never told her. Had let fear of disappointing his
father with a less-than-perfect marriage match silence him, even
after the man had died.

Tess stopped in front of him, lifted her hand to his
chin, and pushed his mouth closed. "It's impolite to stare,
Gatewood. Especially if it's unclear whether the look is one of
male appreciation or disapproval."

He longed to take her in his arms, hold her tight,
and tell her how much he loved her. But he had to settle with
lifting her gloved hand to his mouth for a kiss, letting his lips
linger a bit longer than needed, squeezing her fingers ever so
softly so as not to alarm her.

"I assure you, m'lady, the appraisal was one of
admiration. You are a diamond of the first water."

She smiled, revealing the dimples in her cheeks.
"Thank you. I must say, that's quite a compliment, coming from
you."

One I should have given you before now.
How he
wanted to take her lips in a devouring kiss, yearned to feel her
skin next to his without the barrier of gloves, to feel her body
pressed to h—

"Do hurry, you two. We're already late." His sister
let out a sigh as she sat back in her seat.

Blasted Delia.
Donovan would be sure to
mention to Lord Stanchbach how much she hoped he'd escort her to
supper. Perhaps an evening of listening to the man's nose whistle
would teach the mouthy chit to keep her tongue.

As he helped Tess into the carriage, the sweet scents
of honeysuckle and rosewater enveloped him, penetrated straight to
his heart. He wanted to breathe her in, pull her close and let the
essence of her pour into him until they were one.

Once Tess was settled, the driver continued down
Berkeley Street, turning left onto Piccadilly. No sooner had they
crossed St. James when the pungent smells from Paxton and
Whitfield, a couple of streets over, washed through the carriage.
The foul odors of vinegar and sour curds turned his stomach,
reminding him why he'd never acquired much of a taste for
cheese.

But if this was a dream, would the sweet aromas of
Tess's honeysuckle and rosewater have tickled his nose so? Would
his stomach have recoiled against the putrid stenches emanating
from the cheesemonger's shop? Surely one didn't have a sense of
smell in a dream?

"Don't tell me you're pouting already, Gatewood. It's
so unbecoming for a duke to sulk."

"He's losing his touch, Tess. He never even
complained once about my dress or insisted I change."

"Oh, the poor man. Must be his age," Tess said.

Tess and Delia's laughter echoed within the confines
of the carriage. The sound was unfamiliar yet at the same time
soothing. Streetlight spilled in through the window, casting their
faces in its luminous glow. Just as suddenly, shadow once again
overtook them as the lantern was left behind.

He locked eyes with Tess, wishing the interior of the
coach held the brightness of a few moments ago. Unlike Delia, who
loved to shock the
ton
by being straightforward and blunt,
Tess held all those around her captivated with her candid
eloquence. Him most of all. When she looked at him with those
sapphire blue eyes, he wanted to devour her and give her the world
at the same time. She hated the freckles that dotted her nose, but
he found them endearing and wanted to kiss each of them, hoped all
of their daughters—

Time hadn't stopped for Tess either. She'd married
someone else.

Only him.

It had only stopped for him. Forever stuck in that
moment when he could have done something different but hadn't.

The closer the carriage approached to Holly Hall, the
more his anxiety grew. His time with Delia was running out. He
didn't want to relive it again. Perhaps he should just return home
and lock her in her room. She'd be safe that way.

Delia let out a long sigh. "I do feel sorry for his
wife."

"Yes, but at the rate he's going, he'll never have a
wife," Tess replied.

He opened his mouth to snap at them, but couldn't.
Something tickled at the back of his mind. A memory. One long
forgotten. What had he answered? What had he said? Like a wave
hitting the shore, he remembered…

"Perhaps I haven't married of my own choosing. As it
is, I have yet to find a lady to marry of noble enough birth who
doesn't annoy me or bore me to tears," he shot back.

The coach fell quiet. No one spoke another word.
When they reached Holly Hall, Tess walked past him without a
glance, and they didn't say anything else to one another that
night.

Delia had not been so quiet. "You are the foulest
creature I've ever known."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Poor sweet Tess. What you said was mean and
spiteful."

He was taken aback. He hadn't insulted Tess, hadn't
spoken of her at all.

"Are you that dimwitted? Can you not see it? Why do
you think we escort her?"

He shrugged. "I assumed it was because her mother is
in ill health and her father has passed away, so there is no one
else to offer her an escort."

She stared at him, mouth agape. "And you think she
couldn't go with someone else and avoid your foul moods?"

He'd never thought of it. His mother and Tess's had
been close since childhood. It only seemed natural for Tess to be
an extension of their family.

"It would serve you right if she accepted one of the
marriage proposals she's received."

If memory served him, other than a few pleasantries
exchanged when they met at social outings, they'd never truly
talked again after that night. He hadn't thought much of it at the
time, just assumed that with Delia gone…

But now, thinking back, when she'd walked past him,
she'd seemed… hurt. He clearly pictured it now. Her face had been
somber, eyes downcast, lips even, not a hint of a smile. Could it
have been something he'd said? They'd both been so animated and gay
before his comment. Had he been that harsh? Had he been the reason
her face had looked so sad?

He couldn't — wouldn't do that to either of them
again.

"Well, ladies, there's nothing for it. I shall rely
upon the two of you to school me in the proper way to behave so
that I'm not such an undesirable sort. Perhaps I should fawn over
the ladies as Lord Filton does? Declare my undying devotion as Lord
Marreck is often prone?"

Eyes wide, Delia and Tess exchanged glances then
burst into laughter.

He lifted his eyebrows. "I assure you, I'm quite
serious."

"W-who are you and w-what have you done with my
brother?" Delia asked between bouts of laughter.

"Whatever do you mean? I'm a perfectly agreeable
fellow!"

This made the girls laugh harder, and he found
himself chuckling as well. When had he laughed last? His heart
warmed, melting the frost around it. The heat seemed to spread
quickly through his body, and for the first time in eight years,
peace filled him. Despair and loneliness had been his companions
for so long he'd forgotten the welcoming feel of happiness.

All too soon the carriage came to a stop and the
footman was opening the door. Donovan wanted to jerk it shut again
and scream at the driver to keep moving, to take them as far from
London as possible. Gretna Green. He'd marry Tess and they'd move
to the country with her mother, his mother, and Delia. His sister
would be angry for a while, but she'd be safe and alive.

Delia stuck her head back inside the carriage. "Do
hurry, brother. We're already late."

He let out a sigh and exited the coach. Even though
it was the last thing he wanted to do. He'd had no choice about
returning to the past… and he had no choice about what he did now
that he was there.

The Kringles' home shone like a beacon. Oil lanterns
lined the drive and the cobblestone walk leading to the front door.
Candles burned in every window, bathing the rooms in inviting
warmth. Laughter and festive music drifted from the house, drowning
the clip-clop of the horses' hooves as the carriage pulled
away.

"How beautiful! Daphne and Diana always raved for
days after this ball." Delia bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes
full of wonder.

"I'm so glad you've made your come-out and can now
attend. I do miss having Diana here to get into mischief with,"
Tess said, draping her arm through Delia's and leading her up the
walk ahead of him.

Why weren't Daphne and Diana here? Why hadn't they
come? More specifically, why had he never bothered to wonder
before? True, Daphne now had five children who were too young to
attend, but surely the governess could watch them for the evening.
Diana had but one son, and the lad stayed with his father's parents
quite a bit. Come to think of it, Diana spent a great deal of time
in Bath for treatments of some sort. When had his sisters last
attended a social outing?

Donovan darted a glance toward Tess and Delia. It was
as if they were walking out of his life again, and a rush of sorrow
and panic settled over him like a thick blanket of fog. Fear had
him too terrified to move and alarmed enough to run after them at
the same time.

He wanted to yell at the girls not to go inside,
scream that no good would come of it. Yet he couldn't. They didn't
know what the future held, how things would turn out. The past
eight years hadn't happened for them. So how could he possibly
explain not only what was going to happen but how he knew it? Delia
and Tess would think he'd gone nobbed in the head.

Tess glanced over her shoulder. "Well, Gatewood, do
you intend to escort us inside or stand on the lawn?"

The path in front of him stretched on forever. Each
step he took came slower than the next. But all too soon he was
passing through the door with Delia and Tess, greeting their host
and hostess.
Blasted time is even more determined than Past Duke
to keep me on the same path as when I first attended this ball,
whether I like it or not.