The Duke of Christmas Past (4 page)

"Glad you could make it, Gatewood. Lady Delia and
Miss Warren, I'm pleased to have you as guests in our home. Lady
Kringle has outdone herself this year." Lord Kringle beamed at his
wife. His jovial chuckle echoed around the entryway.

"A ball on Christmas Eve simply must be the event of
the season. We're so pleased to have you here." Lady Kringle's gown
was as colorful and bright as the decorations.

Delia and Tess handed their pelisses to a waiting
maid and then dropped into elegant curtsies.

"Everything looks marvelous." Delia twisted her head
in every direction, gawking.

The Kringles had certainly outdone themselves. Even
the entryway had garlands and pine boughs on every available
surface.

"My lord, my lady, thank you so much for having me,"
Tess said, smiling.

His breath caught in his throat and that familiar tug
on his heart set in. The swirl of pink silk clung to her slender
frame. A cream-colored satin ribbon gathered the gown at her waist,
accentuating her very female figure. Her gown might not show as
much flesh as Delia's scarlet one, but it was definitely more
provocative.

"…Christmas pie you like so well, your grace."

Heat crept into his face. He'd missed half of what
Lady Kringle had said. With no other choice, Donovan took her
gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. "Thank you, my
lady."

The woman's rosy cheeks took on a darker shade. "Oh,
your grace." Her eyes perused him in a way that had him squirming.
She held onto his hand as if she had no intention of releasing
it.

Delia sniggered. Insolent chit. Thank goodness Tess
had the mind to lead the girl toward the ballroom.

"I say. The Duke of Bramblewood Green has just
arrived. And he's not alone," Lord Kringle said.

Donovan's hand was released as if it were a hot coal.
Lady Kringle dropped into as deep a curtsey as she could without
losing her bosom. "Pardon me, your grace." She followed her husband
out the front door. "Who has he brought?"

Glad to have his hostess's attention focused
elsewhere, Donovan set out in the direction of the ballroom. How he
hated having to relive the rest of the evening. If only there was a
way to avoid it. If only—

He stopped. Delia and Tess had already joined the
party. They'd walked arm-and-arm toward the ballroom, whispering
and laughing. Happily. If he avoided the rest of the festivities,
perhaps that's how the evening would end.

No one was about, and Lord and Lady Kringle hadn't
yet returned to their post at the front door. He retraced his steps
back outside, careful to make sure he wasn't seen. Once on the
porch, he scanned the yard. The Kringles were greeting new
arrivals, but they were far enough from the house for him to exit
the porch without notice. He walked down the stairs and stepped
onto the dewy lawn, into the shadows. Inch by inch, he made his way
to the side of the house and disappeared into the night.

Several windows had been opened, and the smell of
burning oil and wax mingled with the fragrance of winter foliage.
He inhaled deeply, letting the scent languish, amazed when it did.
The aromas were so strong, denying their existence wasn't an
option.

Laughter bubbled up from a few feet in front of him
and he stopped. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even
noticed the light shining just ahead. A short stone wall surrounded
a small patio. Two girls — he wasn't close enough to tell who they
were — sat on the wall, whispering.

As quietly as possible, he stepped close to the house
and pressed against it. The cool damp stucco was rough beneath his
gloved hands.

"Did you see the Duke of Cumberland lead Miss
Kirkhoven from the gallery?"

"Yes! Where do you suppose he's taking her?"

The girls had to be speaking of the Honorable Anne
Kirkhoven, the youngest daughter of Baron Wotton of Boughton
Malherbe, for she seemed to be the duke's desire of late.

"Somewhere improper, by the look on Lady Wotton's
face."

The girls giggled. More like screeched, with the way
the sound offended his ears. He was glad when they hurried to the
French doors and back inside, taking their cackling with them.

"You do realize you can't fix the future by hiding
out here."

Donovan jerked around, startled.

Past Duke stood a few feet behind him. The light
surrounding the specter was sure to draw attention to Donovan's
hiding spot. The thought of being found in the shadows sent his
senses reeling.

In two strides, he reached Past Duke's side and
slammed the man against the building, unable to control his rage or
his sorrow. "What sorcery is this? What demon are you?"

Their eyes locked for several seconds, and then Past
Duke was gone. Sweat beaded on Donovan's face and his hands
trembled. Had Past Duke really been here? Had his sanity completely
left him? Now to make haste and—

He turned to see Past Duke straightening his jacket.
Would he never be rid of the ghostly irritant?

"That was quite rude, considering I'm trying to
help."

Disgust and frustration had him quacking. "Help how?
By showing me what I've missed over the past few years? Letting me
see my sister again, knowing her fate? And Tess… That's cold and
heartless. I have no intention of helping me torture me."

"You can't leave. If you do, the future won't be
fixed."

"Oh, but I can. If I don't talk to anyone, avoid
people altogether — if I do nothing, I can't make the same mistakes
again." Donovan puffed out his chest and smirked.

A solemn expression clouded Past Duke's face. Sadness
swallowed the light in his eyes, even seemed to dim the halo
surrounding him. "Unless doing nothing is what messed up the future
in the first place."

Donovan raked his fingers through his hair and
cursed. "This is madness. You obviously haven't the slightest
notion why I'm revisiting Christmas Eve 1812, either. Thus proving
my point that this is a dream — a nightmare. So what I do — or
don't do — will have no bearing on events that have already
happened… things that can't be undone."

Sparks flashed through Past Duke's eyes. "Did I not
prove anything by striking you in the leg earlier? I should be very
happy to kick you on the other shin to convince you that you are
not
dreaming."

Donovan narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn't advise that.
My leg still—"

He broke off. His left shin did hurt. Surely that was
just a trick of the mind, wasn't it?

The obnoxious apparition tapped his index finger on
his chin. "Hmm… there's a paradox in there somewhere."

Did it matter if this was a dream, if it was real?
Delia was here. She was laughing and happy… and alive. And Tess.
How he'd missed her friendship over the years. What could it hurt
to play along if it meant a few more moments with them?

Donovan met Past Duke's gaze. The man — ghost —
certainly appeared to be considering a kick to Donovan's leg.

Of course he is. He's me, after all.

"This would go much faster if you'd just tell me what
I'm supposed to fix."

"Don't you get it? It isn't about snapping fingers
and barking out orders to get the results you want. There are real
consequences for the decisions you make and the actions you
take."

The ghost duke's words struck him like a knife. "I'm
well aware that Delia's death is on my hands."

"No, Delia made the decision to run away. We are all
responsible for our own actions. Until you realize that, you will
be stuck in the torturous world you've created for yourself," Past
Duke said.

"Enough with the riddles. Just tell me what I have to
do."

Past Duke shrugged. "Make the right decision to fix
what you did wrong."

Donovan gritted his teeth. "How will I know when the
past is fixed?"

"When your heart no longer hurts." With that, he
disappeared.

I'm really starting to dislike him — myself — me —
oh for heaven's sake.
He let out a string of curses and stomped
to the patio and into the ballroom.

Donovan stepped through the doors of the terrace. The
ballroom seemed to resemble the lawn more than a fancy assembly
room. All shades of greenery covered every column, candlebra, and
wall. Pinecones and sprigs of fir served as centerpieces on the
refreshment tables. The fresh scent of evergreen wafted through the
air, filling the room with the minty aroma. Tiny pieces of
needle-shaped leaves littered the beautifully polished marble
floor.

He surveyed the crowd. How things had changed in the
past eight years. Did Lord and Lady Kringle still hold their
Christmas Eve ball in 1820? Was he still included on their guest
list? His secretary Brooks had been informed to decline most of the
invitations he received. Attending social events hadn't interested
him since—

His blood boiled. Rage coursed through his body. He
glared at the dancers. Where was she? No doubt dancing with that
scoundrel Roland Melwyn, Fourth Earl of Norcross. Brilliant colors
of violet and white and blue flashed in front of him followed by an
array of green and red and yellow as the pattern reformed. No pink
silk whirling about. None in the second set either. Perhaps in the
third — no, there Tess was. And she was indeed dancing with
Norcross. How could she have married that lackwit?

He started for the couple only to stop after a few
steps. Was he insane? Given that he had not only shared a brandy
with himself in his study but was actually reliving Christmas Eve
1812, it was highly possible he had lost his senses. But was he
actually about to go so far as to cause a scandal in front of the
ton
over a dance? What was he going to do once he reached
them? Challenge the earl to a duel? And why? Because he was
jealous?

Like a hot poker stabbing through his heart, the
memory of learning Tess had accepted Norcross's marriage proposal
flooded him. He'd been wrong. This wasn't a nightmare. He'd died
and gone to his fiery home.

He changed directions and headed to the refreshment
table, in need of a stiff drink. To his disappointment,
he had to settle for a punch made of champagne and
crushed peaches. Tiny pieces of the fruit stuck to his tongue,
leaving a tart taste on his palate. What he wouldn't give for a
goblet of strong brandy. Perhaps two goblets.

He averted his eyes from the dancers, unable to
witness the budding romance between Tess and the earl, and there at
the end of the table stood Delia's friend Lady Ivy Plumthorne. She
was striking in her purple gown, but she eyed the ballroom door as
if contemplating her escape. A sentiment Donovan understood all too
well.

He walked toward her, pausing when
he reached her side.
"Lady Ivy, I trust you will keep my
sister in line this evening."

She smiled and curtsied. "I shall try my best, your
grace. But Delia rarely makes that an easy task."

"Indeed." He took another sip of the punch and had to
resist the urge to smack his lips together to dislodge the errant
bits of peach from his teeth.
Against his will,
his gaze slid over the dancers, again seeking the pink of Tess's
gown.
"How are your parents?"

"Very well, thank you for asking. Is something
amiss, your grace?"

Without taking his eyes off Tess, he replied,
"Donovan, call me Donovan. I'm perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"

Lady Ivy laughed. "Because you are scowling at the
dancers with a frown so deep it almost goes past your chin."

He stood up straighter and cleared his throat.
"Forgive me. My manners seem to be lacking tonight."

"Fortunately, Miss Warren has enough for both of
us."

His body warmed at the mention of Tess and he smiled
at Lady Ivy. "And what social indiscretion did you commit
tonight?"

The young girl blushed and averted her eyes. "I
danced the first two with Lord Norcross, being polite, hoping then
I could avoid him for the remainder of the ball. Instead, I fear I
gave the man a bit more encouragement than I had intended, and he
was quite determined that we share a third dance…"

"And Miss Warren…"

"The next thing I knew, she was beside me, squeezing
my hand. She smiled at me and then inquired if the earl intended to
make her ask him to dance. He bowed and said of course not and led
her to the dance floor. As they walked away, Miss Warren winked at
me over her shoulder."

So many emotions warred within Donovan that he hardly
knew which one to feel first. Pride in Tess's selflessness; her
willingness to always put others ahead of herself. Fear that
perhaps she did carry an affection for Norcross. The thought had
jealousy washing over him like a fiery flame. What a fool he'd
been. How had he not seen until now what she meant to him, that he
loved her — was in love with her?

He'd played this night over and over in his mind, yet
until now had never realized what had been right in front of him.
But now… now when facing the truth without having the memories
misconstrued by his own interpretation of the events, the torture
of realizing what he'd lost was unbearable.

The music came to a stop, and he again scanned the
dancers. Even through the scattering aray of colors, he easily
spotted his prey. Norcross was leading her back to the chairs. Her
eyes met his, and she smiled. The tug on his heartstring was so
strong he nearly toppled over to get to her.

A jaunty quadrille started, and couples lined up in
pairs. Had he even asked her to dance that night? Not that he
recalled. One of the many mistakes he'd made with her. If he'd
known that would be his last chance, he would have danced three
dances with her, giving her no choice but to marry him. If he had
it to do over—

Excitement had his heart thrumming. He did have it to
do over! He'd been given a second chance, and he had no intention
of letting Norcross have her.