Page 17 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
Her heart still pounding, she lay back down, staring into the blackness. Fear gripped her heart.
I am in danger here. I am in danger from feeling something that I have no right to feel. The duke is my master. It is wrong to feel this way about him. Besides that, he is a broken man. No good can come of it. What is happening to me?
She put her hand to her mouth, biting it, trying to banish the dream’s spell. But it lingered in the air, a sensual mist, surrounding her, threatening to overwhelm her entirely.
Chapter 9
“Yes?” Ian glanced up from the ledger, glaring at the footman, trying to suppress a surge of irritation. He hated being interrupted when he was going over the estate’s books. “What is it?”
The footman shifted on his feet, visibly gulping. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but Mrs. Kittles said to tell you that there are carolers at the door, who wish to sing for you and Lady Lenore…”
Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Tell Mrs. Kittles to send them away,” he growled. “They have no place in this house!”
The footman looked startled at his vehement tone but nodded. “Very good, Your Grace.”
The servant bowed quickly, exiting the room. Ian sighed irritably, trying to focus on the ledgers again, but it was swimming before his eyes. He got up, looking out the window, just in time to see a group of locals from Trenton, swathed in heavy coats, walking away from the door, looking rather dejected.
He suppressed a stab of guilt. Mary had always encouraged the local carolers, who went from house to housesinging Christmas songs. His late wife had been enchanted by them—she had claimed that they embodied the spirit of the season.
His heart clenched. They just reminded him of her. Besides the fact he wanted no reminder of Christmas in this house. Not ever again.
His eyes flickered, feeling another stab of guilt. Lenore would have loved to hear the singing. But then, his heart hardened. His daughter was going to grow up unencumbered by silly traditions and superstitions. He was doing her a favor.
He thought of Lenore in the library taking lessons with Miss Bomind. His loins tightened involuntarily at the thought of the new governess. In the days since their disagreement, he had been avoiding the library.
He couldn’t afford to indulge his strange attraction toward the new governess. He would call for Lenore to ask about her lessons alone.
His jaw tensed. Miss Bomind would probably be gone soon, just like all the others, anyway, recalling their deal. She might have charmed Lenore for the moment, but his daughter would soon tire of her, and show her true colors, driving her from the house. And then this agony would be over forever. Ian couldn’t wait.
***
“But why are they leaving?” Lenore turned to Selene from the window, where she was watching the carolers depart, her eyes wide, looking bewildered, as well as sad. “Did Papa not know they were here?”
“I do not know,” replied Selene, trying to smile. “Perhaps he did not want you to be disturbed from your lessons, my lady.”
Lenore’s eyes filled with tears. “But they would not have disturbed me for so very long,” she said, sniffing, looking dejected. “It would have been so nice to hear them sing!”
Selene reached out a hand, patting the girl’s arm in a comforting way, but Lenore shook it away, resuming her vigil at the window, watching the carolers walking away from the house, heading toward the next one, which was a long walk in the snow. She put her hands on the glass, pressing her nose against it.
Selene sighed heavily. She should try to coax the little girl back to her writing task, but she knew that Lady Lenore would be resistant. She would let the girl feel her disappointment about not hearing the carolers for a few minutes, and then she would try to distract her, and get her back to work.
A flash of anger consumed her. It was cruel of the duke to send them away and deny his daughter the simple pleasureof hearing them sing. She knew his views about celebrating Christmas—she also knew the reasons why he possessed those views, and was sympathetic—but what harm could come from letting Lenore listen to some carols? He didn’t have to listen to the carolers himself!
She took a long, deep breath, trying to control her anger, as she watched the little girl pressing her face to the window. But it wasn’t dissipating; if anything, as she watched Lenore’s disappointment, it was growing.
I resolved to avoid him. But this is too much. Someone must tell him that he is being cruel, even if it is just thoughtlessness. And if I do not do it, then no one will.
***
Selene’s heart was thumping as she stood outside the door to the duke’s study, before hearing his command to enter the room. She took a deep breath for courage, before entering, folding her hands in front of her to conceal the shaking.
He was seated, scribbling furiously, his brow knotted in concentration. Her breath almost stopped. It was the first time she had laid eyes upon him since her first day here—since their argument in this room. The first time she had seen him, too, since the unsettling dream she had about him.
His presence seemed to fill the room, overtaking it. She had forgotten what a powerful presence he had. She took a deep breath, curtsying low, trying to control the instinctive reaction toward him, trying to recall her anger, which was what had spurred her to do this, after all.
“Your Grace,” she said, rising slowly.
He looked up. His face was impassive, as hard as granite. “Miss Bomind. What can I do for you?”
