The Duke of Christmas Past (6 page)

A surprised gasp escaped her. Even in the dim light
of the carriage, Donovan could tell her eyes widened and her mouth
fell open. His gaze rested on her full, voluptuous lips.

"Is it true you've turned down every marriage
proposal you've received?"

"Wh-who told you that?"

"Delia mentioned it. Is it true?" A bit of guilt
gnawed at him for not being completely honest. But his sister had
confessed it to him. He didn't see a reason to point out it had
been the first time he'd lived through Christmas Eve 1812 and not
tonight.

Tess shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. "I-I
suppose it is."

"Why?" His voice was no more than a whisper.

She looked down. "Several reasons."

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face so
that she had to meet his gaze. A fiery surge of emotion overwhelmed
him as he stared into the sapphire depths of her eyes, and unable
to contain it any longer, he claimed her mouth with a tender
vengeance. She twined her arms around his neck, returning his ardor
with the same passionate fury, and he deepened the kiss. The way
her lips clung to his only intensified the exquisite feeling of
having her in his arms.

Breathless, Donovan reluctantly pulled back, but
didn't break contact. He trailed kisses up her cheek, afraid to
stop touching her. Terrified if he did she'd vanish and he'd once
again be alone in his study, consumed with the aching emptiness
that had haunted him for the past eight years.

He tipped his head back and looked at her. "Promise
me you won't marry that dimwit Norcross." He had no right to ask —
demand — such an assurance. But, heaven help him, he couldn't bear
the thought of her with anyone else.

"M-m-marry Lord Nor — I — he—"

Donovan tightened his hold, closing the gap so that
his lips grazed hers. "Just promise me."

"I-I promise," she said, her voice shaky.

He captured her lips again in a hungry kiss, parting
them effortlessly. A wave of hot desire swept over him. The
uncontrollable flame coursed through his blood like an amorous
fire. She raked her fingers through his hair, returning his passion
with sweet fervor. Donovan had to have her completely, needed to
feel her skin next to his. He loved her with all his being… he knew
that now. And he had to make her his in every way.

"…And what should the poor man have done? Let her
leave alone, possibly coming to harm…"

"…Mr. McDaniel didn't run off with Delia, but
ran
after
her…"

The words broke through his sensual haze, sending
cold shivers down his spine. He leaned away from her.

"Donovan?"

"A few minutes ago, you said they didn't run off
together, that McDaniel went after Delia." He straightened and sat
back on the seat, watching Tess.

"Oh… I suppose I did, didn't I." She let out a
sigh.

"You lied to me." He was surprised to hear the ache
in his voice.

She placed her hands on his chest, her eyes
beseeching. "I didn't — could never — lie to yo—"

"When I came to, I asked you where Delia was, and you
told me she and Henry said something about heading to Gretna Green
to marry."

"No… what I told you was that Delia said they should
just run off to Gretna Green because you'd never consent to letting
them marry. I just didn't mention that he refused. She screamed he
was no better than you and left. Mr. McDaniel said to tell you he'd
see her home safe."

Donovan was at a loss. A complex mixture of anger,
hurt, bitterness, and disbelief warred within him, making his
senses reel. "Why?"

Tears glistened in her eyes and she averted her face.
"Because I thought perhaps I could help you see reason — and not
just for Delia. Mostly I did it for you." She looked at him. "If
you succeed in separating Delia and Mr. McDaniel, the spirit will
go out of her eyes and she'll hate you. But not nearly as much as
you'll hate yourself." Her shaky hand came up to rest on his cheek.
"Sometimes the right decision isn't always the best decision."

A deluge of agony ripped his heart in two. If she
only knew. "And sometimes we aren't given a choice at all." He
leaned forward and tapped on the roof of the carriage. "To my
townhouse."

Every detail of Christmas Eve 1812 had been etched
into his memory, but he'd foolishly forgotten that in this 1812,
none of those things had happened yet.

Just like tonight, Delia had run off. Only then it
had been after the ball when they'd had a heated argument in his
study. She'd gone to McDaniel, and the man had refused her. He'd
told her he couldn't go against her brother's wishes and he'd
escorted her home.

Donovan's hand was on the latch opening the door
before the carriage came to a stop. He couldn't look at Tess. If he
hadn't let his feelings for her cause him to disregard the fact
that he should have been with Delia instead…

"Donovan, wait!" she yelled in a pained, choked
voice.

Ignoring Tess, he ran to the townhouse and shoved
through the door as Lawrence opened it, nearly knocking the
startled butler over.

"Delia!" His voice boomed through the townhouse.

"Your grace—"

"Delia!" He started up the stairs, taking them two at
a time.

"She's in the parlor with Mr. McDaniel, your grace,"
Lawrence announced.

He stopped and jerked around. "And my mother?"

The butler cleared his throat. "Her grace said to
inform you that you mucked it up and you could fix it without her.
Then she retired to her suite with strict orders she wasn't to be
disturbed."

Of course she did.

Tess stood in the entryway. As he passed her, she
grabbed his arm. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Donovan, I—"

The agony and dread he'd lived with for the past
eight years slammed through his body with an unbridled fury,
stopping him in his tracks. He'd thought his battered soul couldn't
be hurt more, but the pain and sorrow marring Tess's beautiful
features ripped him to shreds. Every smell, every emotion, every
sound… every nuance was ten times more powerful. And that made the
anguish of knowing what he'd lost — would lose once more — an
unbearable torture. He couldn't live through that again.

Yet that was exactly where things were headed.

What am I doing?
He was right back where he'd
ended up the first time. Once again losing the chance to be with
the woman he loved, pushing her straight into Norcross's arms. And
Delia… she'd run away from him, hated him just as she had before.
He'd fixed nothing. Made things worse, actually.

He was trying. Heaven help him, he was honestly
trying to do what was right—

"…sometimes we aren't given a choice at all."

But he had been. He'd been given the chance to fix
everything. And curse it, he wasn't about to let his sense of right
— his father's beliefs — cause him to make the same mistakes
again.

One breath. Two, and his heart resumed a steady, even
thumping. Her beseeching gaze never left his face, and as they
stared into each other's eyes, her pain faded, her eyes widened,
and her intriguing lips opened.

He couldn't just walk away from her. But he couldn't
allow Delia's situation to languish a moment more either. He rubbed
her cheek with his knuckles then touched his lips to her forehead.
"Trust me."

Not waiting for an answer, he continued to the
parlor. Definitely a room for the ladies. Pink-and-yellow flowered
wallpaper decorated every wall, heavy draperies of the same pattern
hung from floor to ceiling at the bay windows, an Oriental rug with
a similar design covered most of the floor, and the two high-back
chairs and sofa were covered in a pale blue silk.

His prey sat huddled together on the couch. McDaniel
rose slowly, his hand resting on a sobbing Delia's shoulder. She
lifted her blotchy, tear-stained cheeks, and Donovan's helpless
fear nearly brought him to his knees.

That look. He'd seen that same pained look slashed
across her face. Those eyes. The same loss and misery had clouded
her eyes right before she'd run off to America, only to die.

He wouldn't make the same mistake again. If he did,
Past Duke would probably curse him to repeat this blasted holiday
over and over until he got it right.

The air shifted ever so slightly, and a warm
prickling caressed the right side of his body. He glanced sideways.
Tess smiled at him and squeezed his arm, giving him the reassurance
he needed.

Did Delia love McDaniel as much as Donovan did Tess?
She'd certainly gone to extreme lengths to be with the man, had
even… died. His sister had been so devastated to learn the man had
married another that she'd ended up on a ship that had sunk. The
realization cut through him like a jagged knife. What if he agreed
to let them marry and McDaniel again broke her heart?

"Sometimes the right decision isn't always the best
decision."

He'd made what he'd thought had been the right choice
the first time in 1812. The one his father would have made. It had
caused him to lose his sister and the woman he loved. So had it
been the best decision? One worth repeating? He'd been helpless to
save Delia before. But now…

Donovan strode forward, not quite certain how to
start or what to say. Not at all sure what he should do.

McDaniel's face blanched. His eye had swollen shut
and had already turned a deep purple. "I'm completely to blame for
what happened. I should have stayed away as you request—"

"Yes, you should have. I made myself quite clear."
Donovan crossed his arms. "I'm of the same mind, and have no
intention of letting the fact that you left the ball with her sway
my decision."

McDaniel bent and retrieved his hat and gloves from
the sofa. "I understa—"

Delia jumped to her feet. "No!" She glared at
Donovan, contempt clear in her eyes. "I'll never forgive you for
this. I hate you."

Tess let out a gasp. "Delia."

"And I'll spend the next eight years hating myself
more than you ever could." Had he just said that out loud?

The room fell silent. Delia and McDaniel furrowed
their brows. They exchanged a look that clearly said they thought
he'd gone daft.
I'm inclined to agree.

Donovan's heart stuck in his throat, making speech
impossible. His tattered nerves had his whole body twitching. Would
this blasted night never end? And what would he find when it did?
He knew what he'd find if he didn't allow Delia to marry McDaniel.
And that was a future he had no intention of returning to.

Still unable to speak, he closed the distance between
him and his sister and pulled her into his arms. In the end,
keeping her alive was all that mattered.

"Donovan, I can't breathe."

"Oh… sorry." He released her, a bit shocked at
himself for such an emotional reaction. "Er… um… as I was saying,
I'm of the same mind. But I find myself in an awkward predicament.
I find I'm also no longer able to forbid you two from
marrying."

Delia's hand went to her chest and she whipped her
head back and forth between him and McDaniel. Hope danced in her
eyes, lighting up her face. "W-we can marry?"

"I haven't agreed to that. Not yet. I'm just willing
to withdraw my rejection of the marriage for now. I'll make my
final decision after I speak with McDani—"

Delia squealed and flung her arms around his neck.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Yes, your grace. Thank you," McDaniel said, a
splitting grin covering his whole face.

"Don't be so quick to thank me. You haven't heard my
conditions yet." He set Delia away from him and locked eyes with
her. "And don't think you've gotten out of the tongue-lashing you
deserve, young lady. It was very foolish of you to run off
tonight." A part of him wanted to tell her that one day she ran off
and never came back, but how? How could he tell her such a horrific
thing? He prayed to God he never had to hear that news again. If
that meant he had to let her marry McDaniel, then the choice was
easy.

Her face turned as red as her dress, and she lowered
her head. "I-I know. I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to get the notion that you've
somehow forced my hand and that's why I'm willing to reconsider."
I'm doing this to save your life.

Delia's only answer was to nod.

"McDaniel, I'll have a word in private in my study."
Donovan gestured for the young man to follow him from the room.

McDaniel bowed. "Of course, your grace." He touched
Delia's arm. A deep affection swam in the man's eyes. In that
moment, nothing else mattered. McDaniel was offering his sister
something worth more than all the riches in the world. He truly
loved her.

Donovan finally understood. This fourth son of an
earl, with nothing more to offer Delia than the salary of a navy
lieutenant, would provide a more secure future for her than Daphne
and Diana had in loveless marriages.

Because that's what they had… he knew that now, saw
it for what it was.

He turned to escorted McDaniel to his study, and his
gaze landed on Tess. Her eyes tugged his heart into a tender
embrace, and warmth enveloped him. He'd never experienced such a
comforting assurance with anyone but her. Could that be why he'd
never married?

Donovan stopped in front of her and took her hands in
his. "Thank you."

She furrowed her brow and tilted her head sideways.
The tiny smile on her lips was enough to bring out the dimples in
her cheeks. "I-I don't understand…"

He smiled and brought her hand to his lips for a
kiss. "When I'm finished speaking with McDaniel, there are some
things I need to say to you…" He broke off, unable to get past the
emotion in his throat.

She touched his face with her other hand. Liquid heat
pooled in the pit of his stomach. "Of course," she whispered
softly.