Page 27 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
He walked up to her, his eyes flickering over her. She felt the force of that powerful attraction again, taking in the breadth of his shoulders in his dark cape, his strong jawline, covered in tiny dark stubble. Hastily, she took a step back.
“Do not think I have forgotten your impertinence,” he drawled, his eyes fixing her to the spot. “I did consider dismissal, but on reflection, think that your good influence upon my daughter outweighs your brazen talk.” He paused. “But I will not tolerate such impudence in future, Miss Bomind. Are we clear?”
Selene raised her chin, her heart thumping harder, looking him straight in the eye. “Very clear, Your Grace. Thank you.”
He paused. “By the way, there will be house guests arriving soon,” he said, looking grim. “Lord Mastiff, an oldfamily friend, and his daughter, Lady Gwendoline Pretner, are journeying to London from the north of the country and will break their journey here for a week or so. I expect my daughter to be kept out of their way as much as possible. Do you understand?”
Selene nodded mutely, barely able to breathe.
He inclined his head, before sweeping past her, brushing against her arm. It felt like he had branded her with a hot iron. She started trembling, shaking like a leaf, as a few snowflakes fluttered around her, landing on her hair and face.
She took a deep breath, before turning around and walking back to the house, rubbing her arm. This wasn’t getting any easier… and there were only so many ways to avoid contact with him. Could she stay here? Or would she be forced to leave Trenton House and her position before she had even really begun?
Chapter 14
Selene sipped her afternoon cup of tea, watching the servants rushing around the kitchen, trying to enjoy her brief break.
There had been the same frenetic energy in the house for the entire day—housemaids scrubbing the silverware, airing out guest chambers, and making beds. It seemed that the houseguests that the duke had told her about would be arriving sooner rather than later.
Mrs. Kittles sat down next to her, letting out a deep sigh. “Oh, my legs are aching,” declared the housekeeper. “I have been rushing around like a headless chicken for the entire day.” She paused, reaching for the teapot. “I will be glad once the guests are on their way to London and gone.”
Selene smiled sympathetically at the agitated housekeeper. “Well, they are only staying for a week or not much longer,” she said, patting her hand. “Your wish will be fulfilled before too long, Mrs. Kittles.”
The housekeeper rolled her eyes. “I cannot wait. It is always so much busier in the house with houseguests to attend,although mercifully, there are only two of them this time, the Viscount Mastiff and his daughter, Lady Gwen.”
“Have you met them before?” asked Selene.
“Aye, I have,” said Mrs. Kittles, rolling her eyes again. “Lord Mastiff was a good friend of the duke’s late father, the last duke. He is a kind enough gentleman, if a bit vague, but rather too indulgent with his daughter.” Her face tightened. “Lady Gwen is a piece of work. She is spoilt and prissy, always demanding things, and talks to the servants as if they are dirt beneath her feet. I must admit I do not like the lady at all.”
Selene arched her eyebrows. “Oh dear. I will try to avoid her as much as possible, then. The duke did tell me to keep Lady Lenore out of the way—so it should not be too hard.”
“Aye, you can try,” sighed the housekeeper. “I think they will end up staying longer than a week, if Lady Gwen has her way.” She paused, leaning closer to Selene, lowering her voice. “It is well known the lady has her sights set upon the duke. She does not bother to hide it—in fact, she is quite blatant about it.”
“Oh,” said Selene, feeling startled. A strange feeling she did not recognize was burning in her chest. “She is in love with the duke, then?”
Mrs. Kittles gave a bark of laughter. “No, I do not think she has such finer feelings for His Grace,” she replied, in a dryvoice, sipping her tea. “We think she just wants to be a duchess and likes the thought of his wealth. She would be wearing finer clothes, dripping in more expensive jewels, and having more people kowtow to her. That is about the size of it.”
Selene could barely breathe. “And the duke? Does he admire her and want to make her the next duchess?”
Mrs. Kittles shrugged. “It is a good question,” she said, frowning a little. “I do not think he will ever be able to love another lady like he loved the late duchess, but he isn’t getting any younger. He might want to try for a son and an heir, and Lady Gwen would be a prime candidate. She is the daughter of a viscount, quite beautiful, and very accomplished. It would be a good match in that way—if he can overlook that she is a spoiled brat.”
Selene nodded, not trusting herself to breathe. The strange feeling in her chest had turned into a hard knot and it was hurting. With a start, she realized it was jealousy. Naked, ugly jealousy. She had rarely been jealous of anyone or anything in her life before, so it was no wonder she hadn’t recognized the appalling emotion.
She was jealous of the thought of the duke admiring this beautiful, accomplished lady. And the thought that he might consider this Lady Gwen as his next duchess was simply torture.
You are being ridiculous. What is between you and the duke is destined to fade away into nothing. It can never goanywhere. Of course, he would want to marry a lady and not a poor governess. Why should it bother you? It is just the way things are. It has always been that way, and it always will be.
Selene put down her cup, forcing herself to stop thinking about it. She needed a distraction. Suddenly, she recalled her conversation with Emma, when her friend had suggested that she ask if they could decorate the house for Christmas.
“Do you think the duke will mind overmuch if we hang some Christmas greenery in the house?” she asked, her heart skipping a beat. “It would make the house look and smell so lovely and bring a bit of the festive spirit to it. And I know that Lady Lenore would adore it.”
Mrs. Kittles put down her cup, staring at her in utter shock.
“Have you gone completely mad?” asked the housekeeper, shaking her head. “The duke despises Christmas and has nothing to do with it at all. Look at how he sent those carolers away.”
Selene frowned. “I know, but I thought he might be persuaded, if I could convince him of how much it would benefit his daughter…”
Mrs. Kittles gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “It is not likely, my dear. Lady Lenore is eight years old, and he has neversoftened enough to decorate the house, or celebrate the season, since she was born.” She sighed heavily, shaking her head again. “It is a crying shame, for it is not just Christmas, but the little lady’s birthday, as well. She has never even had a party or a celebration for it, never mind sat down to a Christmas feast.”
