Mischief & Mistletoe (A Christmas Novella) Read Free

smile a little.
    It took Emma at least another full half hour, and a dozen glimpses into the looking glass, before she felt confident enough to leave her room. But once she did, she felt more than prepared to face the duke of Willyngham at long last.
    As expected, she found the fiend ensconced in the library with Andrew, the door slightly ajar as they spoke in low tones behind it. She stood for an instant, bracing herself for the worst, and overheard him saying, “I assure you, Peters, I have not changed my mind.”
    “Willyngham… have you given the least thought as to how this may appear to others?”
    “It’s for the best,” the duke insisted.
    Even as she told herself it didn’t matter, Emma’s heart twisted a little at his words.
    “I had hoped with time—”
    Emma didn’t wait to hear any more.
    The last thing she wished was for Andrew to change the scoundrel’s mind. With as much dignity as she could muster, she threw the door open wide and entered the library, lifting her chin as she met her brother’s surprised gaze.
    “Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Pardon, I couldn’t help but overhear. But the duke is correct, Andrew. It is the best recourse for all. I only wonder why it took so long for His Grace to finally make up his mind.” At last, she glanced at the duke, and at the sight of him, her heart tumbled a little in response.
    As though he were master of this domain, he was seated in her brother’s deep blue damask chair before the window, while Andrew paced before him like an uninvited guest. Demon, that he was, his dark brows arched at her bald declaration, but he did nothing more to acknowledge her. No greeting, nothing. He simply sat, observing her, his dark blue eyes appearing slightly amused.
    He wore blue, but a blue so dark as to appear black—like his eyes, she reasoned. And his boots, indeed, were black as well—black and coated with sand. Her brows rose. Had he gone down to the cliffside? she wondered. To relive the moment of her greatest humiliation, no doubt—but really, it didn’t matter. She narrowed her eyes, daring to lift her gaze to his face again. This time she resisted the urge to wrench her gaze away. Though Lord-a-mercy, that face—it was the same face she recalled, the one that had deceived her, the one that she had fallen in love with at first glance. His cheeks were still shadowed, his eyes still jaded. Indeed, it was that same face that had once led her to believe she could make a difference in his life.
    He tilted her a look, one that might have once made her heart go aflutter, but she refused to let it affect her any longer.
    Her brother sounded appalled. “But Emma, you cannot mean to say you are in agreement with this madness?”
    Emma tore her gaze away from the duke. “Of course, I am.” She was through being mesmerized by the man. If her heart skipped a beat whenever he looked at her, well then, it was on account of her fragmented nerves and not a trifle more. Arching her own brow with equal disdain, she turned to face her brother. “It has been sheer folly drawing this out so long. Really, Andrew, we must thank His Grace ”—she gave the duke a pointed glance, one with little benevolence—“for taking Father’s passing into consideration, but now it is past time to be done with this business—long past time to make this very mutual decision public. In fact, we should post it in the Times today .”
    “Mutual?” Andrew and Lucien both echoed at once.
    Devil take him if he’d meant to challenge her, but the question came of his mouth of its own accord.
    Lucien straightened within his chair as Emma turned to face him, her smile decidedly frosty.
    “Of course,” she said without flinching. “Do you not agree, Your Grace ?”
    Her barbed use of his title was beginning to grate upon his nerves, but for the first time in his thirty-one years, Lucien found himself at a complete loss for words. She stood before him, proclaiming his decision a