Mastered under the mistletoe

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A Lords of Discipline Holiday Novella

ALYSON CHASE

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A Note from Alyson

This book is a work of fiction. I don’t think I’ve made references to any actual historical figures in this novella like I have in past books, but if I have, please be advised that besides their names and the general dates in which they lived, I have made up everything about these characters. Nothing I write about them is meant to be taken as historical fact. They just made good plot bunnies.

And now to the legalese: All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing or any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. It will also result in the author not being able to afford the important things in life, like snacks and rent. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

© 2018 Alyson Chase

Marcus & Liz’s story (again) – Mastered Under the Mistletoe

Chapter One

December 21st, 1815

Elizabeth Hawkridge, Duchess of Montague, leaned over the simmering pot and inhaled the steam wafting over her face. The scents of apples, cinnamon, and cloves made her mouth water. A large bubble swelled on the surface before popping.

“Careful now, Your Grace.” Mrs. Peggy Todd, the head cook at Hartsworth House, drew Liz away from the boiling pot of spiced ale. “You’ll either topple into the wassail or catch your skirts on fire. Either way, His Grace won’t be happy.”

Liz wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders and squeezed. Her first Christmas at Hartsworth. How could she not be excited? Last year’s holiday had been spent at Marcus’s London townhouse, a very nice home to be sure. But Hartsworth was where her heart lay. She wanted this year’s celebration to be perfect.

She smoothed her palm over her swelling belly. Their first Christmas as a true family, even if one member of the family was still in hiding.

“Do you think it will be enough?” Liz stood on her toes to peer into the pot. “I know I’m putting additional burdens on the servants due to my desire for Hartsworth to be made beautiful for Christmas. The least I can do is ensure they are well fed and quaffed for their efforts.”

It was yet three days until Christmas Eve, but Liz could wait no longer to decorate the manor. Not only was Hartsworth receiving a thorough cleaning from top to bottom, but Liz had directed that each and every room be ornamented for the holidays in some way. Maids had been put to work shaping balls from the mistletoe the tenant children gathered and sold. Footmen hurried about hanging boughs of greenery tied with red ribbon over doorways and along nooks and shelves in every parlor, picture gallery, and library.

There were a lot of rooms in Hartsworth House. Liz should know. At one time she had cleaned each and every one of them.

A knock sounded at the kitchen door.

Peggy wiped her hands on the towel tucked into the front of her apron and hurried to push open the heavy wooden door. Two footmen stood on the other side, the trunk of a large yew tree wedged between their shoulders. Two more faces peered out over the other end of the tree.

Liz clapped her hands together and only just repressed her squeal of delight. Duchesses did not squeal.

At least, not in public.

The men surged forward, squeezing their bodies through the doorway. The branches of the yew bent, and fought back.

Peggy snapped her towel at the men. “Not through here!” A lock of her curly auburn hair, burnished with fine strands of silver, drifted down to her face. She impatiently brushed it back. “I won’t have that thing coming through my kitchen. Take it through the front.”

“Not the front.” Mr. Todd, the steward of Hartsworth and Peggy’s husband, hurried down the steps into the kitchen and scowled at the needles dropping on the doorstop. He tugged at the knot in his cravat. “Sally mopped the marble tiles in the entry this morn.”

“Do you want me or my girls to mop the kitchens twice in one day?” Peggy tapped her foot on the stone floor, giving her husband a look Liz had come to recognize.

And, as per usual, a tender look softened the steward’s face at his wife’s imperious tone. “Of course not,” he said. “I’ll think of another route for the lads to take the tree to the Green Drawing Room.”

One of the footmen rolled his eyes. “All right, boys. Let’s back it up.”

Liz chewed on the inside of her cheek. She wouldn’t laugh at poor Mr. Todd. But really, the steward transformed from a strict taskmaster to a biddable peagoose at the smallest quirk of his wife’s finger.

“Liz!” a deep voice thundered. Footsteps echoed down the stairs, growing louder until Marcus, eighth Duke of Montague stood next to Mr. Todd. A muscle twitched in his jaw and his chest heaved.

She, however, did not have the same effect upon her husband as Peggy did on hers.

“Yes, dear?”

He stretched out his hand. “A word, please.”

Liz hurried forward, lifting her skirts when she reached the stairs.

Cupping her elbow, Marcus guided her up to the main floor. He turned left down the hallway. “Did I, or did I not, state that my library was not to be touched in your mad dash to decorate for the holidays?”

Ah. That explained the jaw tic. “You did, but you were quite distracted when you said it. I didn’t think you truly meant it.”

“Have you previously found me not to mean what I say?” He pushed open the door to his library and tugged her through.

“Of course not, but …” Gripping his hand with both of hers, she pulled him to the center of the room. She swept her arm out in a circle. “Look how splendid it looks. Sally, Molly, and I worked very hard decorating your library. It’s the room you spend most of your time in. I wanted it to be lovely.”

“The room I spend the second most amount of time in.” He reeled her toward him, a smile softening the stern lines of his chiseled face. He placed his hand over her rounded abdomen, then bent down and pressed a kiss to the bump. “I believe most of my time is now spent in the bedroom.”

A tingle danced up her spine. Yes, and she was fortunate for it. She combed her fingers through his thick, dark blond hair. Her husband had taught her much of the pleasures that could be found between two people who loved one another.

He straightened, and the light slanting through the window struck him full on.

Liz’s breath caught. He was beautiful. Her familiarity with every line and curve of his face sometimes made her forget. His eyes, usually a grey so dark they reminded her of a raging sea, turned as soft as her favorite cashmere shawl when he looked upon her. His cheekbones were high, his lips full and soft. And his form …

She brushed a bit of lint off his black jacket, letting her fingers linger on his chest. The muscles beneath the wool were firm, unyielding. His waistcoat nipped around a flat stomach. The fawn trousers he wore cupped narrow hips, stretched across firm thighs, and disappeared into the shafts of his black Hessian boots.

She sighed. She adored those boots.

Yes, she was a fortunate woman, indeed.

Marcus drew his eyebrows together. “Wait. Did you say you helped the maids decorate?” He stepped forward, and Liz took a corresponding step back.

Oh, dear. Marcus and his silly rules. “Help might be too strong a word. Supervised is more accurate.”

“Hmm. That’s good. Because if I discover that you have lifted one single, solitary box, stood on one ladder to hang these absurd balls of mistletoe or pervasive boughs of Scots pine that have sprouted from every nook and cranny, there will be consequences.”

Her nipples tingled at just the thought of those consequences.

He stalked forwards, matching her retreat, until the backs of her thighs met the hard wood of his desk. Marcus pressed his palms flat on the desk beside her hips and leaned in, his strength surrounding her. He lowered his head, turning his face aside to avoid her questing lips before burying his nose in the crook of her neck. Slowly, so damn slowly, he dragged the tip of his nose up her throat.

She dropped her head back and blinked at the ceiling. “You know I adore the concern you have for me and our child, but truly, Marcus, you take it too far at times.”

His lips brushed her ear lobe. “Is that so?”

Her thoughts faded, went grey about the edges before she snapped them back into focus.  Marcus was an expert at making her forget herself, but this was important. She had four more months until their child arrived, and she wouldn’t let him hector her into obedience.

The edges of her lips curled. That was better left for the bedroom.

She placed her hand on his chest and prodded him back. “Yes, that is so. I promised I will not exert myself, but you snapped at me over carrying a book yesterday. A book.”

He lifted a strand of her hair and rolled it between his fingers. “Books can be heavy.”

“It was a volume of poetry by Blunt! Not fifty pages long.”

Marcus took her hand from his chest and raised it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles. “All right. I understand your point. I know I have been a bit …”

“Overbearing? Tyrannical? Imperious?”

One golden eyebrow winged up, making him look as imperious as only a duke could. “Protective,” he amended. “But this is my first child. I believe some precautions should be taken.”

“And they are.” She brought their linked hands down and flattened them over her rounded abdomen. “But we’re not made of porcelain. And there are still duties I must attend to, especially with the holiday approaching. Amanda will be here soon. This will be my sister’s first Christmas since … well, since she’s become like the Amanda of our childhood. Last year she might have been freed from prison, but she wasn’t yet free in her mind. She was hardly more than a ghost. I want this year to be perfect.”

Marcus pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Then it will be so. Although I think Julius would like some credit for making his wife happy this Christmas, as well.”

Liz smiled. Yes, Amanda’s new husband had done much to bring a smile back to her sister’s face. He’d truly rescued her twice – once from the hangman’s noose and once from the prison of Amanda’s own making.

Liz turned and leaned back against Marcus’s chest. There had been many dark days in her past. But Liz’s circumstances had changed dramatically, and she wanted this holiday to be a celebration of her new life. Of their new life.

He wrapped his arms around her, dipping his chin to rest on her shoulder.

Liz sighed in contentment. The rays from the fading afternoon sun joined with the light from the fireplace to cast a golden glow about the library. Although the room’s purpose was difficult to discern at the moment. Fluffy boughs cut from conifer trees were tucked along every shelf of the floor-to-ceiling book cases, hiding the spines of the tomes. An immense wreath, studded with fresh holly and small white rosebuds, hung over the window, blocking the view of the gardens. And an immense ball of mistletoe dangled above Marcus’s desk, its length of ribbon stretching all the way to the high ceiling.

Perhaps she had taken Hartsworth’s ornamentation too far.

“Do you truly think the mistletoe is absurd?” she asked.

“No.” He squeezed her arms. “But I do think no work will get done until after Christmas. All the unmarried maids will dally under the balls with the footmen, forgetting to attend to their duties.” Reaching up, he knocked the mistletoe, setting the ball to swinging.

She slapped his arm. “Oh, Marcus.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It looks wonderful.”

“Then why were you upset about the decorations in here?”

Inhaling sharply, Marcus released her and stepped to his desk. He cocked a hip up on the edge. “Turning my library as green as a forest wasn’t the issue. I asked you not to decorate because I’d received a package from Summerset which I put in my desk here for safekeeping. Now, it is missing.”

“A package from Summerset?” She worried the hem of her shawl between her fingers. “It concerned your work for the Crown?”

Marcus nodded.

Liz’s stomach spiraled to the ground. Her husband and several of his friends were part of a select group in the House of Lords. Select, because the prime minister insisted on calling upon them to perform certain tasks in service to their country.

In short, they were spies. And men who took their responsibilities with utmost seriousness.

“What did the package look like?” she asked.

“It was a wood box, approximately two-by-five inches long. Inside was a porcelain figure of a turtle-dove, wrapped in a velvet cloth.”

Liz pressed her palm to her heart. That hadn’t been one of the boxes she’d moved to the drawing room. While the maids and footmen had been hanging the wreath and mistletoe in the library, Liz had asked for all of her boxes of ribbon to be brought down from her apartment so she could make bows. When the room had been decorated to her liking, Liz distinctly remembered stacking up all of her flat boxes full of bows and handing them to the footman to take to the Green Drawing Room to adorn the tree. No wooden box in the bunch.

“Why would a turtle-dove be important?” she asked.

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. He slid off the desk and paced across the room. “The bird was made to top a special music box. It acts as a key of sorts.”

Liz straightened, her shoulders popping back. “A music box? I’ve never seen one. Can they really play entire songs, all on their own?”

“So it is said. This particular music box can only be opened by locking the figure into place. Dunkeld is in negotiations to obtain the box. Once he gets it, he will send it on to me. We were told that a letter is hidden within, one containing information vital to England’s national security.”

“And you need the top to open the box.”

Marcus nodded. “The Swiss watchmaker who was hired to build it devised a trap. If one attempts to force the box open, a small vial of acid will destroy the document within. The key is needed to safely retrieve the letter.”

Liz pursed her lips. That was a sly trick. But she had learned that level of cunning was part and parcel of the spy world. A box was never just a plain box. Nothing was ever as it seemed. She tapped her thumb against her lips. So, if it hadn’t been her own carelessness that had brought on the disappearance, there was only one other reasonable conclusion to be drawn.

“You think another spy stole it?”

Marcus drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Or paid someone in my service to take it.” He dipped his chin and gave her a small smile. “We do know maids can’t always be trusted.”

Liz pressed her lips together. “I think I proved myself in the end.” Good Lord, Marcus did enjoy reminding her of her own foray into espionage when she’d pretended to be his maid.

Marcus settled his hands on his hips. “Are you certain you didn’t move the box? Send it up into a storage room with the rest of the unused ornaments?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m certain.” Besides, there were no unused decorations. She’d found a spot for everything. “I’ll speak to Mr. Todd, but I don’t think we have any new servants. And anyone who’s been at this house for more than six months is loyal.” They were like a family at Hartsworth. Perhaps it was because Liz had been one of the servant class for a time. She understood the pressures their domestics faced, their worries, their hopes for the future. She cared about each and every one under their roof, and knew they respected and held Liz and Marcus in regard, as well.

Yes, perhaps she could no longer speak as freely with them as when she wore the maid’s uniform. And there were times when their easy laughter would abruptly end when she walked into the kitchens. But she still prided herself that she had a closer relationship with their servants than any other duchess in history.

The generous wages Marcus paid and the prestige of working for a duke didn’t hurt in earning loyalty, either.

“I will speak to Todd.” Marcus retreated behind his desk and dropped into his chair. “But please, don’t invite any more decorating parties into this room. I want as few people in here as possible. When the music box arrives, I can’t have that going missing, as well.”

Liz circled behind him and placed her palms on his shoulders. She kneaded soothing circles with her thumbs. His muscles slowly unbunched under her ministrations. “Why didn’t you tell me about the box and key?” she asked quietly. “If I had but known the true reason you wished this room to remain empty …”

Marcus gripped her wrist, stilling her hand. “There is much in my business that I cannot tell you. It is for your own safety.”

A strange tightness spread through her chest. Since their marriage, Marcus had taken on fewer and fewer jobs for the Crown, but to Liz’s mind, there were still too many. Yes, protecting the security of England was important. And there were some tasks that only Marcus or his friends could perform because of their unique position as members of the House of Lords.

But that didn’t mean Liz had to like it.

She didn’t try to keep the vinegar from her voice. “And look how well that worked out for you. If you’d kept me informed in this matter, I would have made sure no one entered this room until the next year.”

Marcus drew her around and pulled her down to sit on his lap. He brushed a stray hair off her forehead, his fingertip featherlight on her skin. “It would have looked odd had we barricaded the door. So much of this business is about appearances, and a package from a friend tossed in the drawer of my desk doesn’t arouse suspicion. Typically.” He combed his fingers to the base of her skull, and rubbed the nape of her neck between his thumb and index finger. “But I will worry about this. It isn’t your concern.”

Tingles spread from the points of his fingers down her back. All of Liz’s irritation slipped away. If she’d been a cat, she would have purred. “This message. How important do you think it is for England?”

“Liz.” He angled her head so she looked directly into his eyes. He rested his other hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I won’t have you worrying over this. Not when any agitation could hurt yourself and the babe.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Skimming his palm up and down her thigh, Marcus stretched his lips into a wicked grin. “The doctor has said pregnant woman should be kept as relaxed as possible. And I know one incontrovertible way to achieve that end.” He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own.

Liz sighed into the kiss. Her husband truly did know how best to please her body, and there was nothing better than surrendering it into his care.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry. The key might not have gone missing if she hadn’t opened up the library. And without the key, would he be able to access the message? In Marcus’s line of work, if messages went unread, people died.

That definitely wasn’t a worry she needed burdening her, even if her condition wasn’t as delicate as Marcus believed. She was with child, not ill. If he had his way, she would lie abed all day, doing nothing but knit booties for their child.

Her husband might have forgotten that she, too, was skilled at intrigue, but she hadn’t.

She shifted her legs, giving Marcus’s roving hand better access.

No, for everyone’s sake, the disappearance of that key was something she would need to look into.

Chapter Two

“Peggy.” Liz adjusted the pillow behind her back and wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position. She took the mug of tea the cook pressed into her hands. “Do you know if there are any new servants at Hartsworth?”

Even though Marcus had told her not to ask Mr. Todd about his missing key, there had been no such proscription against asking the steward’s wife. And as head cook, responsible for feeding every soul at the manor, she was certain to know.

Peggy settled on a wide, pillow-topped chair across from Liz. They were in Peggy’s sitting room, a tidy chamber Liz had asked to be constructed for the cook adjacent to the kitchens. The morning sun spilled in through large windows that looked out upon an herb garden, now buried under a thick layer of snow. The fire crackling next to Liz battled valiantly with the chill seeping through the glass panes. Peggy had chosen a colorful mismatch of chairs, pillows, and rugs when she’d decorated, making the room a cheerful, eclectic sanctuary.

“No.” The cook blew on her steaming tea. “The newest member of Hartsworth is Hannah, the girl we got to replace …” She buried her head in her mug, taking a noisy sip.

“Me.” Liz shook her head. “Peggy, there’s no need for awkwardness. I know it is considered shocking that the Duchess of Montague first met the duke while in his service, but those are the facts. It does no good to pretend otherwise.”

“No, Your Grace.” Peggy’s face flushed nearly as red as her hair.

Liz sighed. She couldn’t blame the servants for their discomfort. The circumstances of her arrival at Hartsworth were most unbecoming. Moving from parlor maid, a second-tier servant at that, to mistress of the house was difficult on everyone. For Liz, as well. The easy comradery with the women who had been her equals had disappeared.

But Liz wasn’t giving up, especially not with the kind-hearted cook. The woman had been a solace to her in darker times, and Liz wasn’t going to let something as trivial as a title come between them.

She tugged the shawl Peggy had sewn for her tighter about her shoulders. “No one new at Hartsworth in almost two years?”

“Well …” Peggy popped up to grab a quilt from a chest along the wall and tuck it around Liz’s lap. “There was that lad we hired to muck the stables, but he only lasted six months before His Grace sent him off to school.”

Yes, Liz remembered the child, and how impressed Marcus had been with the boy’s quick mind.

Peggy settled back into her chair. “But there isn’t a lot of coming and going in a house such as this. There aren’t better positions to be found. Why would anyone leave?”

“Why indeed.” Rubbing her thumb along the rim of her mug, Liz considered. “Has anyone had family come to visit of late?”

Peggy cocked her head. “No, Your Grace. Is something amiss?”

“No, only …” Liz sucked her lower lip into her mouth. “Might I impose upon your confidence?”

Peggy nodded stoutly, looking offended at the very question.

“Yesterday I learned that my Christmas gift for the duke has gone missing.” The deception tugged at her conscience, but Marcus’s affairs needed to be kept private. If she’d learned anything during the year she’d lived as a spy, it had been how to keep her mouth shut. “It might have been misplaced, but I have looked everywhere. I don’t want to think that any of our servants would take it, which is why I’m inquiring about newcomers.”

“Quite right.” The cook set her mug down on the side table and leaned forward. “No one employed by the duke would do such a thing. I stake my reputation on it.” She looked over Liz’s shoulder, her gaze softening. “But …”

“Yes?” Liz scooted forward.

“There was a tradesman who came skulking about three days past.” Peggy wrinkled her nose. “Selling candlesticks, he was, right off the back of his pony cart. But his clothing … I wouldn’t let him through the door, even into the kitchens.”

Liz bobbed her foot up and down. “But perhaps he entered through another door.”

“Perhaps, but it would be difficult for a stranger to go about Hartsworth unnoticed.”

Liz sank back, her muscles sagging. Peggy was right. Liz knew first-hand how challenging sneaking through the halls of Hartsworth could be, and she’d been dressed in a legitimate maid’s uniform. Still, it was a clue.

“A man selling candles would call upon all the homes in the area. That could take a week at least.”

“I suppose,” Peggy said.

“And Lincoln would be the most logical place to bed down.” Lincoln was about ten miles north of Hartsworth and the only town in the vicinity large enough to support a public house. Liz sipped her tea, letting the sugar-laden heat fuel her determination.

Peggy slowly swung her head from side to side. “Now, Your Grace, I don’t like that look in your eye. You can’t possibly be thinking—”

“But I am.” Liz pushed to standing, the journey from seated to upright taking her a little longer than it had a month before. “I am determined to find my missing gift.” She glanced out the window. No wind moved the branches of the Black alder tree across the garden; the morning looked so still as to appear frozen in place. But the skies were cloudless, and no snow had fallen since the roads had been cleared. “Peggy, will you ask Billy to get the carriage ready for me? I feel like doing a bit of shopping in town.” And if that shopping led her to some answers about this candle tradesman, all the better.

Peggy sighed. “You might be Her Grace the Duchess of Montague now, but you’re still more Miss Wilcox than not.”

Liz bounced on her toes. She hadn’t heard her maiden name in quite some time. She rather liked, and missed, how daring she’d been as Miss Wilcox. “Thank you, Peggy.”

“It weren’t meant as a compliment.”

Liz shrugged. “I’ll run up and retrieve my cloak. Tell Billy to meet me out the side door.” No need to advertise her trip.

The lines creasing Peggy’s broad face deepened. “All right. It’s not as though I can tell a duchess no. But I’m coming with you,” she said with a sniff. “And there’s naught you can do to stop me.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to visit the milliner?” Peggy glanced over her shoulder to stare mournfully at the aforementioned shop across the street. She stumbled into Liz, and Liz placed a hand on the woman’s elbow to steady her. “You’ll need a new bonnet for all that ribbon you’ve purchased.”

“I only purchased the ribbon so as to prove that I came into town to shop.” A few more bows on the wreaths on Hartsworth’s front door wouldn’t go amiss, either. And the tree would need more ornamentation. Hmm, perhaps she needed even more ribbon. Well, she could shop after her mission. “Now, let us go procure refreshments. I’ve developed quite a thirst.”

Peggy paled as they approached the door to the tavern. “A duchess cannot go into a bar,” she hissed.

“Not under normal circumstances, no.” Pausing before the door, Liz examined her companion. She pulled a pin from Peggy’s hair, mussing the locks for good measure, and pinched the woman’s cheeks.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“You’re right,” Liz said. “We can’t just wander into a public house. But if we happened to be walking past, and you happened to come down ill, well, that would be a different story.”

Peggy raked a hand through her escaping curls. “I’m not one for acting,” Peggy said. Liz ignored that and pulled her inside. “I can’t—”

“Barkeep!” Liz called. Silence cut through the establishment like a hot knife through a soft pudding. She recognized a few of the faces of their tenant-farmers, although their wide-eyed shock at her appearance was quite unlike any expression she’d previously seen them wear. She raised her chin. “A glass of wine, if you please.” She tugged Peggy to the nearest table and pressed her down onto the bench alongside of it. “My woman came down faint as we were strolling past.”

“Your Grace,” Peggy hissed. She shook her head, and another hank of hair tumbled down her back. “I can’t—”

Liz patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. A little nip of wine and you’ll feel more like yourself.” She turned to the man who remained frozen behind the long oak bar. Slowly, she arched an eyebrow. “Wine. Now. Please.”

He blinked, and blinked again before snapping into action. “Of course, Yer Grace. Of course.” He grabbed a glass and wiped it with a towel before filling it near to the rim with a ruby-colored liquid. Bustling around the bar, he raised the glass to Liz’s face.

She inclined her head toward Peggy. “She is the one in need of the spirits.”

“’Course, ‘course.” He thrust the glass beneath Peggy’s nose, a dash of wine sloshing over the rim onto the cook’s skirts. “Anything else I can get for Yer Grace? Should I send for the leech?”

“Pray, don’t trouble yourself. I think Mrs. Todd is already reviving from your libations.” Liz glanced at Peggy, who took a hasty sip. “I would like to thank you for your kindness. Might I buy you a drink, as well?”

“Well, I really shouldn’t …”

“Please.” Liz swept her hand over the table. “Sit with us until my woman is recovered. It wouldn’t do for the Duchess of Montague to sit alone and unprotected at a public house, even one as fine as this. You would be doing me a kindness with your company.”

The barkeep narrowed his eyes and glared at his customers. “Yer right. This lot isn’t to be trusted around someone of quality. I’ll just grab me mug and be right back.”

He hurried away, and Liz sank onto the bench next to Peggy.

The cook took another sip of the wine. “This isn’t half-bad. I expected much worse from a tavern’s cellars.”

“Glad you approve,” Liz murmured before flashing a brilliant smile at the barkeep as he settled across from her. “Mister … I’m sorry, to whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

“Nalley. Ned Nalley. At yer service.” He raised his mug in salute. Nalley brought it to his lips before hastily dropping it to the table. “Did you want something to drink, Ma’am? I should’ve asked before.”

Liz raised her hand, palm out. “No, I thank you.”

Nalley’s shoulders relaxed. “Alrightee.” He picked up his mug and tipped it to his lips.

“Well.” Liz folded her hands and placed them on the table. “Your establishment is charming inside. I don’t know what I expected from a public house, but it’s really quite pleasant.” It was fortunate that Liz had spent a year honing her skills of deception. The tavern was as far from charming and pleasant as London was from Boston.

“I thank’ee.” Nalley tossed back another large swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Yer husband seems to like it well enough.”

“Is that so?” Liz narrowed her eyes. How often did Marcus come here? And why would he spend his time at a ramshackle tavern instead of with her?

Nalley bobbed his head to a back room. “When he comes he likes to reserve that room there. He don’t like the quality of the other customers here, neither. Too right. But that room is as snug as a bee in a box.”

Hmm. Liz tapped her fingers on the table. She needed to have a discussion with her husband as to what he found so appealing about this bar. She suspected happily married men didn’t feel the necessity of frequenting public houses. But, one problem at a time.

She started, as though a thought had just struck her. “Yours is the only public house in Lincoln, is that correct?”

“The one and only.”

“Thank the lord for that,” Peggy muttered. She caught Liz’s glare and buried her face in her glass of wine.

“Then perhaps you can help me.” Liz leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. The sleeve of her heavy cloak snagged on something sticky, and Liz peeled the fabric away. She cleared her throat. “There was a tradesman who came by Hartsworth the other day, selling candles. He was sent away but now I think I would like to see his wares. Do you know if he is staying here?’

Nalley’s face shuttered like a window before a storm. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Liz glanced at Peggy. The cook’s creased forehead told Liz that she wasn’t the only one confused over the barkeep’s abrupt tone. “But you run this public house. If you don’t know if a tradesman is staying here, who would?”

“Well, ‘course I’d know who’s sleeping here.” Nalley focused his attention on a spot on his mug, wiping it with his sleeve. “I jus’ mean I don’t know all the trades of the people who sleep here. They don’t tell me that.”

“Nalley?” A slender man wearing trousers with dark patches sewn at the knees skittered over to their table. He plopped his mug down. “Are these ladies asking about me?”

Peggy sucked in a breath and leaned close to Liz. “That’s him. I didn’t notice him before. His back must have been to us.”

The tips of Nalley’s ears flamed red. “Ah, Hobby, I don’t think the lady was meaning you.”

“Hobby?” Liz cocked her head.

The chandler knocked Nalley on the shoulder. “’Course she means me. Who else would she be talking about. I told you I went to Hartsworth on my route.” He dropped next to Nalley, jostling the table.

Peggy saved her wobbling wine glass, shrugged, and tipped the rest of her drink down her throat.

“You wanted to see some of my candles?”

“Er, yes, Mr. Hobby.”

He grinned, a dark gap from two missing teeth showing on his lower jaw. “Nah, don’t bother with the ‘mister.’ I’m John Hobart. Hobby to my friends.”

“Hobby.” Nalley elbowed him. “I need to speak to you.” He slid a glance at Liz. “About your bill. You need to settle up. Now.” Standing, the barman placed a meaty hand on the tradesman’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

“My bill?’

“We’ll be right back,” Nalley said to Liz and dragged the chandler away.

“I need to hear what they’re saying,” Liz whispered. The men hurried down a hall past the back room. Liz eyed the rest of the patrons. They’d lost interest in the tavern-frequenting duchess and had turned back to their drinks.

Peggy ran her finger along the inside rim of her glass. “You go ‘head. Never listen to me anyhow. Why start now?” She giggled. “I rhymed.”

Liz blinked. “Are you drunk?”

“T’at wouldn’t be becom … becommin …” Her forehead wrinkled. “Wouldn’t be proper for the head cook of Hartsworth.”

Perfect. A half-sprung Peggy. Liz twisted her neck, peering down the darkened hall. She glanced back at her friend, who swayed from side to side to some hidden tune. Liz ground her teeth. “Stay here.”

Peggy waved her away and blew out a wet breath, her lips vibrating and making a rude sound.

Rolling her eyes, Liz stood and pulled the edges of her cloak more tightly about her. She scuttled down the back hall. Angry whispers guided her around one corner and had her pausing at the next. She peeked around the edge of the wall and jerked her head back, her heart thumping. The two men stood huddled together only feet away, their heads angled together.

The perfect distance for eavesdropping.

Really, Marcus should let her join him on his operations. She had quite the knack for spy work.

“And I told you, you shouldn’t have gone about to any of the houses, not before tonight.” The voice was hushed, but Liz was almost certain it belonged to Nalley.

“I had five days here,” Hobby said. “I couldn’t just sit about on my arse, not when I could earn some coin.”

“We’ll be making plenty o’ coin tonight. We need to keep our minds on that business, not on selling bits of wax to the toffs.” Nalley huffed. “Now, tell the duchess you’ve sold all your stock and wait in your room till tonight.”

“Do we have to meet at the caves?” There was a distinct whine to the chandler’s voice. “The trail from the cliff is a right pain in the arse to get down without breaking your neck. And you know the sea air is bad for me lungs.”

“You’re just scared of the sound the caves make when the wind comes through. You always were lily-livered.”

A floorboard creaked, and Liz pressed closer to the wall.

Hobby sniffed. “I’m not scared. But it sounds like the gates of Hell open up in them caves, and every poor soul trapped below is howling in torment.”

“Don’t worry, Hobby. The devil doesn’t want you.” There was a muffled clap, like Nalley slapped Hobby’s shoulder. “Besides. It won’t take long to trade a box for a bag of Sovereigns.”

Liz sucked in a breath and fell back a step. The chandler had stolen the box with the key. And he was selling it. Tonight.

The men’s voices grew louder, and Liz turned and sprinted for the main room. She skidded to a halt next to Peggy and fell onto the bench, her chest heaving.

Nalley and Hobart appeared a moment later. The tradesman shuffled up to the table, twisting a handkerchief between his two hands. “Yer Grace, I’m sorry but I don’t have any more of my candles. But next time I’m in Lincoln, I’ll be sure to stop by.”

Liz gathered her reticule and dropped some coin on the table. “Thank you.” She tugged Peggy to her feet. “Feeling all better now, Mrs. Todd? Lovely.”

Nalley scooped the coins into his hand and nodded farewell as Liz and Peggy hurried out the door.

“Well?” Peggy stumbled on a patch of ice. “Did you learn anything?”

Liz wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist. She glanced over her shoulder as they made their way to the carriage. Their footman hopped down from the front seat and opened the door. Liz handed him her purchases and accepted his hand to help her in. After the cook settled across from her, Liz leaned forward. “He’s selling it tonight.”

“What. Your gift for the duke?”

Liz flushed, chewing on her bottom lip. “Yes. My gift.”

“So”—Peggy hiccupped—“what are you going to do?” The carriage rolled into motion.  

Liz smiled. That was one of the benefits of being married to a spy. Once she told Marcus what she’d learned, that key was as good as recovered. He’d know just what to do with Misters Nalley and Hobart. “Don’t worry yourself, Marcus and I will take care of it.”

Chapter Three

“What do you mean you won’t do anything?” Liz paced the library, one hand on her lower back the other rubbing her abdomen. “I overheard where and when the thief is going to sell your key. Why wouldn’t you take some of our footmen and confront the bounders?”

Marcus arched an eyebrow. “Where? You heard cliffs and a cave. That could describe any number of places along our coast.”

“There is only one cave that howls like the gates of hell have been opened.” Why was he being deliberately obtuse? That cave was well-known for the noise it made. There was something about the shape of the rocks and a hole on the far side that the wind rushed through. Liz didn’t quite understand it, but it had been Marcus himself who had been the one to explain the phenomenon to her, for goodness sake.

Marcus stood from his makeshift seat on the edge of the desk and strolled over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her until she faced away from him. Marcus replaced her hand on her back with his own.

Liz sank back into his touch as he kneaded the ache away.

“What you overhead at the tavern contradicts my own information.” He dug his knuckle into a particularly tight muscle, and Liz whimpered. “I don’t want you to concern yourself over this,” Marcus said, his voice low. His breath caressed the rim of her ear a moment before his lips fluttered across it. “You only need to think about preparing for Christmas and the arrival of your sister and Julius. How does Mrs. Todd fare? Will I need to hire another cook for the Christmas feast?”

She almost succumbed to his charms. Her husband’s hands were as silken as his words. It would be so easy to leave the problem to Marcus.

If only he wouldn’t be a thickheaded fool and listened to her.

She stepped away and turned. The gold streaks in his hair shimmered in the flickering candlelight. His eyes were soft, and so dark they seemed to absorb all the remaining light in the room.

She would resist the draw of those eyes. Liz bit her bottom lip. She must.

“Peggy feels much better.” Last Liz had seen her, she was being tended to quite nicely by Mr. Todd. Peggy’s aversion to deception seemed to have ended when she realized her ‘moment of faintness’ meant an afternoon of having her feet up and a doting man bringing her cups of tea. “But Marcus—”

“Liz, the matter is at an end as far as you are concerned.” He cupped her neck and brushed his thumb along her jaw. “Now, let’s turn our attention to more important matters.”

More important? Marcus had impressed upon her just how important that missing key was. Lives were at stake.

He lowered his head and pressed soft kisses along her jutting lower lip.

His attempt at distraction was obvious. Liz gripped his silk cravat and tugged him closer. Obvious and successful. For now.

He drew up her skirts. His fingertips danced over the flesh of her inner thighs, making her shudder.

He found her slit and slid his finger inside her wet heat.

A growl rumbled deep from his chest. “I believe you’re more eager now since you’re with child than you ever were. And that’s saying something.”

Dear lord, she was. She arched her hips into his caress. After the cravings for lemons had disappeared, her cravings for Marcus had increased threefold. Just one look at him and she ached. Even when he was being a thickheaded fool.

Marcus walked her backwards until her thighs hit his desk. “Liz. My Liz.” He gently bit down on her lip and tugged. “How do you want it?”

“Any way. Every way. I only want you.”

He circled her clit, his touch as light as a feather.

Except that way. She wasn’t in the mood for teases. “More,” she demanded.

“When I say.”

“Marcus!” She pushed her hand against his, trying to increase the pressure.

He tutted and peeled his fingers away.

“No!”

He gripped her hips and turned her around. Placing his palm on her lower back, he bent her over his desk.

She rested her elbows on the cool surface, dropping her forehead to the wood. He would take his time. Make her wait until she was about to burst from her skin with wanting. She’d married a tyrant.

He raised her skirts, and the evening air cooled her heated flesh. She’d long since stopped wearing pantalets. Around Marcus, the lack of undergarments seemed more efficient.

He kissed the base of her spine, and a shiver rolled through her. An ache settled low in her belly. “Marcus,” she whispered. “I am the mother of your future heir. The woman you chose to be your duchess. Stop this teasing and give me satisfaction.”

The crack of flesh striking flesh tickled her eardrums a second before the sweet heat of his spank spread through her right arse cheek.

Liz groaned. Pushed her bum higher.

“Have I mentioned how displeased I was to hear that my wife patronized the most disreputable public house in Lincoln?” He rubbed soothing circles on her stinging skin until the heat diffused.

“That tavern is the only public house in Lincoln.” Should she tell him that Peggy hadn’t in fact been ill? That deception could earn her quite a delicious spanking.

Or not. If Marcus were angry, he might truly punish her. By not touching her.

His hand disappeared from her body. There was a moment of anticipation, her breath stuttering, before he brought his palm down to strike the same spot as before. He lifted his hand again, and three sharp blows stung her flesh.

Her body sagged onto the desk. Heaven. The way her mind emptied, free of worry, of any lingering irritations, with every stoke was heaven. Under her husband’s hand, Liz had found the sweetest peace she’d ever known.

But it wasn’t enough. She needed him, inside her, completing their connection. Reaching back, she found the falls of his pants and rubbed the bulge that lay behind.

“Hands up,” he growled. “Grip the edge of the desk.”

Excitement licked through her. She thrust her hand above her head, hitting a ledger and knocking it to the ground.

Neither she nor Marcus paid it any mind.

“Hurry.” Liz widened her feet and curled her toes in her slippers.

The velvet-soft head of his length nudged her entrance before sliding down between her lower lips. His crown stroked across her clit, and she whimpered.

At times, she hated her tease of a husband.

He drew back and when he pushed forward again, his cock eased inside of her, a steady pressure that didn’t end until his hips pressed against her bum.

Liz sighed. Other times, she loved the sweet torment.

He kept his pace slow, ratcheting up her need in skillful and oh-so-frustrating increments. She adored his self-discipline, but she had to admit she missed the rare times when he lost his control. Ever since he’d learned she was increasing, he’d never lost his mastery over himself. The roughest he became during their relations now might be a nip to her throat. All very nice indeed, but she longed for a morning where she didn’t want to get out of bed for soreness.

A sting danced across her right cheek. “You aren’t supposed to be thinking at this moment.” Marcus dug his fingers into her hips, angled her to his liking.

His length dragged across a sensitive spot inside her channel. Her muscles clenched, and her heel thudded against the shaft of his boot. “Harder, please.”

Marcus caressed the side of her belly as he made his way up to thread his fingers in her hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you there.” He bent over her and pressed his lips against her nape. He slid his other hand between the desk and her thigh to cup her mons. He pressed the heel of his hand into her clit as he plunged deep, again and again until her entire world arrowed to the spots where his hand and cock touched her body.

Heat spread from her pelvis, raced along her extremities, a moment before her completion burst through her. She dug her nails into the wood and moaned, low and long.

Marcus pulled out and flipped her over so she sat on the desk.

She leaned back on her hands and tried to catch her breath. He’d been right. Marcus always got her there.

Her husband pushed her skirts to her hips, lined himself up, and drove into her. His eyebrows were drawn close in concentration, his focus so intense it almost felt palpable. She slid back an inch on the desk, and Marcus gripped her hips, holding her steady for his taking. He pounded out his own release.

He rested his palms beside her hips and leaned close, his chest heaving. “Sweet, Liz.” He kissed her chin, her throat.

Liz stared at the mistletoe ball above her and grinned. It had seen much more than a kiss stolen beneath it. She clutched the back of Marcus’s neck and scratched her fingers into his hair.

He raised his head and gave her a heavy-lidded look. Pressing a kiss to her lips, he stood straight. He pulled out, tucked himself back into his smallclothes, and refastened his falls.

Liz stood on unsteady legs.

Marcus handed her a handkerchief. “Feeling better, darling?”

She felt splendid, and if doctors didn’t recommend frequent sexual intercourse for pregnant women, they very well should.

“I feel lovely, but I didn’t feel ill before.”

He adjusted the knot of his cravat and smoothed the tail below his waistcoat. “You were worrying, and that’s not an activity my wife should engage in.”

Liz frowned, her contentment evaporating. “I might be round with child, husband, but I haven’t lost my senses. Unless you’ve forgotten the circumstances of our meeting, surely you remember that I am a woman capable of handling much more than a little worry.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I want to share in your concerns. Help to ease your burdens, solve your problems together.”

Bringing her hand up to his mouth, he bussed her knuckles. “You’re a duchess now. My duchess. And, thankfully, your intrigues are over.”

“But—”

“No, Elizabeth. I have my position, and you have yours.” He circled his desk and plucked up the fallen ledger. “And speaking of positions, I have to determine the schedule for our crop rotations tonight. I’ll be up in a couple of hours.”

Liz clenched her fist, letting the bite of her nails in her palm control her tongue. She loved Marcus and had no doubts about his feelings in return.

But somewhere along the way she seemed to have lost his respect as a partner in their marriage.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” She paused at the door. “Shall I have refreshments sent up?”

He smiled. “A glass of that wassail would be lovely.”

Liz nodded and slipped out of the library. She paced down the hall and descended the stairs to the kitchens. With each step, a little of her anger eased. Respect wasn’t something that she was entitled to. It was earned, every day. Perhaps somewhere along the way she’d stopped earning it from Marcus. She’d left her days of espionage behind so readily, it was no wonder that her husband forsook her abilities.

Her slippers hit the stone tiles of the kitchen, and the aroma of rising bread made Liz’s stomach gurgle. She blew out her lips. If she wasn’t hungry for Marcus, she was hungry for food. Being with child meant constant cravings. She wandered over to the stove. Three long lumps lay atop it, covered with cloths. She peeked under a towel and reached for a bit of dough.

A hand smacked hers away.

Peggy stood next to her, shaking her head. “Bread dough isn’t good for the baby.”

Liz rolled her eyes. The list of food items the cook claimed weren’t good for the baby was growing every day. “I didn’t expect to find you here at this time. Especially as you weren’t feeling well earlier.” She arched an eyebrow.

“I didn’t trust the scullery maids to get the kitchen in proper shape for the morrow.” Peggy sniffed. “Besides, Mr. Todd brought me a slice of the walnut cake and I wanted the orange.”

Both of those options made Liz’s mouth water. “I don’t suppose walnut or orange cake would be bad for the baby?”

“Have a seat.” Peggy nodded her head at the long table the servants ate their meals on. “I’ll get the plates.”

Liz hopped over to the bench seat. “Peggy? Do you know if Jack is still sleeping in the stables?”

“I believe so.” She set two plates on the table then returned with a square cake dusted with sugar and bits of candied orange peel. “Even in the winter, the stable master still wants someone in there all night. Thinks someone would dare steal a horse from the duke.” Peggy snorted. “That’s not likely to happen.”

“Quite so.” Liz cut a generous slice and dumped it on the cook’s plate. Her own slice might have been a speck larger. “I think Jack should come in tonight. It’s awfully cold for a boy his age to sleep out of doors.”

Peggy poured a glace of milk and shoved it across the table to Liz. She peered at her narrowly. “His Grace’s stables are a luxury compared to where most sleep.”

Marcus did take the best of care with his horses, and consequently the men who tended the animals. But that didn’t help Liz’s cause. “Still—”

Peggy’s fork clattered to her plate. “I knew it. You’re planning on going out tonight. to follow Nalley and that candle fellow. I can see the truth of it in your eyes.”

Liz looked over her shoulder. The kitchen remained empty but for the two of them. “What if I am?”

“Lawks, you’re a duchess,” Peggy hissed. “And you’re with child. And women of your station don’t go galivanting around the countryside in the middle of the night! In. Winter.” She shot the last two words out, like she was pounding the final nails home in a horseshoe.

Liz rubbed her belly. All that was true. And nothing she wanted to acknowledge. As horrible as her life had been the year before she’d met Marcus, there had been a certain freedom that came with being a disgraced woman. No one cared what she did when she could fall no lower.

“The cliff Nalley mentioned is barely two miles from here.” Liz piled the remaining crumbs of her cake into a pile and pressed her fork against it, trying to salvage one last bite. “And it isn’t as though a woman never goes about this time of year at night. We’re planning a sleigh ride on Christmas evening.”

“That may well be.” Peggy planted the tip of her index finger on the table. “But there you’ll be accompanied by footmen, and your husband, and any number of other people to look after you. If you go to the cliffs tonight, you’ll be all alone with a couple of ne’re-do-wells.”

Liz reached across the table and took the woman’s hand. “I won’t be confronting them. I only want to see who purchases the stolen k—” She cleared her throat. “Gift. Then I shall come right away and inform Marcus. Once I prove to him that Nalley and the chandler were involved in the theft, he won’t be able to disregard my suspicions. He’ll go to the authorities and take care of it.”

Pressing her lips together, Peggy shook her head. “You have a knack for making the craziest ideas sound right logical.”

“Then you’ll help me draw Jack away from the stables so I can take one of the horses without attracting anyone’s notice?”

“No.”

“But Peggy—”

“No, we won’t need to smuggle one of the duke’s horses out.” She sighed, her large bosom heaving. “Because I’m going with you, and we’re going to take a cart.”

“But how?”

“I’ll tell Mr. Todd I received word that Polly Tibbets is in labor. The man has a soft spot for the girl since she was a maid here at Hartsworth before her marriage. He’ll let me attend to her with a basket of goodies.”

“Not alone. And not after you’ve been ill today.” Mr. Todd might seem like a stiff, unfeeling sort of person with everyone else, but he worshipped Peggy. He would be as loath to allow his wife to go galivanting about as Marcus would. Although it wouldn’t be as remarked upon if a woman of the serving class traveled alone. The rules of society could be such nonsense.

“Don’t you worry about any of that.” Peggy’s shoulders sagged with resignation. “I know just how to handle Mr. Todd, and I have an idea about how to go about this business alone. If you can get yourself out of here unnoticed, and bundled up warmly”—Peggy pierced her with a stern glare—“then meet me south of the corner where the drive meets the road. And keep out of sight.”

Liz sat back, pursing her lips. This was an unknown side to the Hartsworth cook. Unknown but welcome. Liz had to admit it was comforting knowing she wouldn’t be heading out into the night alone.

She clapped her hands together. “Good. I’ll put myself into your capable hands.”

Peggy shoved a bite of cake in her mouth, looking glum. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Chapter Four

Liz stamped her feet. Even through her woolen socks and thick boots, her toes were going numb. A wind had whipped up, and Liz hoped it wasn’t a harbinger of a storm to come. Amanda was to arrive in two days, and Liz didn’t want poor conditions to delay her journey.

Thick clouds drifted in front of the full moon, blanketing the snowy landscape in flickering blues and blacks. The squeak of a cart’s wheel echoed across the frozen landscape, and Liz huddled behind the snowbank. She drew her fur-lined cloak about her, praying she’d blend in with the dark. Voices joined the noise of the wagon wheel, one high and excited, the other tart and peevish and undoubtably Peggy’s.

Liz frowned as a shudder jerked her body. Peggy hadn’t managed to depart Hartsworth alone? Craning her head, she peered into the dark in the direction of the cliffs. After Peggy rolled past with her companion, could Liz make it through the snow to the meet in time? Did she even want to? She longed to catch the blackguards red-handed, but if she was honest with herself, she’d much prefer to be sitting in front of the fire with a nice glass of claret warming her from the inside out. Her shoulders rounded. Her skills at spying seemed to have paled next to her relish for creature-comforts. The person she’d been before she’d met Marcus would never have let something like a little cold air stand in her way.

The cart pulled into view, two figures on the bench seat, with a second horse tied to the back.

Liz leaned forward and narrowed her eyes.

One of the figures hopped down and untied the rear horse. He swung onto the back of the beast and pulled alongside of Peggy. Moonlight illuminated the figure, and Liz could see it was Sam, another one of Hartsworth’s stable boys. “Thanks again.” The words carried loudly through the air. “I’ll meet you back here in two hours or so?”

Peggy slapped the reins to the back of her horse. “Yes. Enjoy yourself, but not too much.”

The young man laughed and turned the nose of his horse. He urged his mount into a trot and disappeared down the lane in the other direction.

The cart trundled in Liz’s direction. A sliver of Peggy’s face was visible in the moonlight, the lower half covered by a wide scarf and the upper hidden under a floppy hat that must have belonged to her husband. “Your Grace,” she whisper-shouted. Her head swiveled from side to side. “Liz!”

Liz started, and warmth spread through her chest. “Here.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bank and slid down to the road. Finding her footing, she trotted to the cart.

Peggy pulled back on the reins. “Up you go.” She held out a hand, and Liz slipped hers inside, climbing aboard.

Peggy slapped the reins, and the horse fell back into step. “What are you grinning about?”

Liz tucked her gloved hands into the muff she’d brought along. “You called me Liz, as you used to.”

“Yes, well …” Peggy coughed. “Let’s just forget I said that. You’re the duchess now, and I should remember it.”

They were quiet a moment. The horse tossed his head and snuffled.

“I adore being Marcus’s duchess,” Liz broke into the silence. A small puff of air formed in front of her mouth. “But I miss being just Liz Wilcox, at times. We were friends.”

Peggy didn’t reply.

Liz dropped her head and stared at her boots. So, that was it. A duchess and a cook truly couldn’t be friends.

Peggy scooted over until her hip met Liz’s and threaded their arms together before retaking the reins in both hands. “It’s a chilly night. We need to stick close.”

The tightness in Liz’s chest disappeared, and she grinned. Perhaps Peggy couldn’t say how she felt, but Liz was assured of her affection just the same. She squeezed the woman’s arm.

“How did you get away alone?” Liz asked. “Where is Sam headed?”

Peggy chuckled. “Sam is sweet on a village girl. Takes every chance he can get to visit with her. I told him I’d be discreet if he wanted to call on her while I visited with Polly.”

“If I haven’t said this before, Peggy, you are equal parts ingenuity and cunning.”

“Thanks.” She pulled her hat lower on her head. “Just don’t tell Mister Todd.”

The cart rolled past two farm houses, their candles in the windows nothing but specks of light in the distance. They took a familiar curve in the road, and Liz touched Peggy’s hand. “Stop here.”

With a huff, Peggy halted the horse and set the cart’s brake. “You’re going to make us walk, aren’t you?”

Liz placed her muff on the seat and cleared her skirts before jumping down. She held her belly and grimaced. Perhaps no more jumping until the little one was out. She turned to help the older woman down. “There isn’t a road to that cliff. Walking is the only way.”

“You don’t have to sound so cheerful about it,” Peggy muttered.

Liz shrugged and took her friend’s hand. They marched across the bluff, the snow crunching beneath their boots. The moon played peekaboo with the clouds. Its ephemeral beams created an eerie landscape.

“How much farther?” The words came out of Peggy’s mouth on a gasp.

“Not far.” Liz brought her voice down to a whisper. Sound carried over the cliffs, and already she could hear the waves slapping against the shore.

“The snow is too deep.”

“Shh.” Liz spied a large boulder that marked the cliff’s edge. “And the snow doesn’t even come to my ankle.”

She crept to the brink and strained her eyes, looking for the trail that led down to the beach. In the near dark, she couldn’t see it.

A bark of laughter ripped through the air.

Liz dropped behind the boulder, pulling Peggy down beside her. She placed her hands on the ground and peered down to the beach. The coastline, the waves, and any figures down below weaved together in one dark limned mass.

“They’re late.” The gruff voice carried over the wind.

“Keep yer trousers on.” Liz was almost certain that voice belonged to Nalley. A small red dot glowed brightly before disappearing, a burning cheroot marking the man’s location. “It will be worth freezing your bollocks off when you see the riches they bring.”

Liz crawled closer to the edge. They? How many spies were involved in the theft?

“’Ere they come.” A cloud drifted, revealing a thick wedge of the moon. The shape of a small boat took shape among the waves, heading for the shore.

“Your Grace,” Peggy murmured, her voice sounding a warning.

Liz batted her hand to shush her.

“Let’s help ‘em up now,” Nalley called. The two men on the beach splashed into the shallows and pulled the hull of the boat up onto the sand.

Several figures hopped out of the boat. One of them joined Nalley and Hobart. “You got me money?”

Liz stretched her neck to get a better view. A gust of wind slapped into her cheeks, and she turtled back into her scarf. Why would Nalley have the money? He was the one selling the key. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. She was missing something.

Peggy tugged on her sleeve. “Duchess!” she hissed.

Liz slapped her hand away.

Coins jangled as a small bag exchanged hands.

“Liz!”

Liz turned on her companion. “What is it?”

“These men didn’t steal your gift.” Peggy tugged the scarf down to expose her mouth. “They’re smugglers!”

“Aye,” a deep voice boomed from behind the boulder. A dark figure stepped out beside them. “And smugglers don’t like witnesses.”

Chapter Five

“Well, that was exciting.” Peggy’s voice dripped with honey-coated sarcasm. She gave the reins a harder slap than their horse appreciated. He snorted and lurched in his harness.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about.” Liz ran the edge of her newly-purchased raw silk against her cheek. “We got plenty of fabric for you, too. And at such a price!”

Peggy snorted and sank deeper into her burrow of scarves. “That’s what avoiding tariffs will get you.” She glanced at Liz from the corner of her eye. “It didn’t hurt that they were all scared witless when they discovered you’re the duchess. No one would want to cheat the Duke of Montague.”

Liz lifted a shoulder. “I have to deal with the fuss and nonsense of nobility; I might as well reap what benefits I can.”

Peggy stared at her.

Liz shifted on the seat. All right, so there were many benefits to being a duchess. But a good buy was a good buy. And those men had sold her several bolts of fabric at cost.

“They were quite nice, weren’t they?” Liz pounded her boots into the footwell, trying to bring back feeling. “I wouldn’t have expected such generosity from smugglers.”

“Yes, they were princes among men.”

Liz frowned. “You’re full of vinegar tonight.”

“Sneaking out and freezing my rump off will do that to me.” Peggy turned the cart onto the driveway of Hartsworth.

“Don’t we need to stop here?” Liz asked. “Sam should be by soon to meet up with you. I’ll get out and walk back unseen.”

Peggy turned her head. Only her eyes were visible. “No more walking for you, duchess. I’ll drop you off by the kitchen, and you go straight up to your room and get warm by the fire. I’ll return for Sam.”

Well, Liz wasn’t going to argue with that. Her feet were blocks of ice. But she didn’t want Peggy subjected to the elements any longer, either. “Stop by the stables. Tell Billy to go get…” Her words trailed off as Peggy turned the cart past a wall of cypress trees and Hartsworth came into sight.

Liz sucked in a sharp breath. Her home, which should have radiated a soft glow in the night, blazed brightly enough for her to see the details of the fountain at the center of the drive. Marcus wasn’t one to be stingy with the candles, and had even mentioned installing some of those new-fangled gas lamps, but Hartsworth wasn’t usually so alit.

“Ah, Duchess …?”

“I see it,” Liz said grimly. She saw it, and didn’t like it. Because if Hartsworth was glowing brighter than Queen Charlotte’s Christmas tree, then that could only mean trouble.

For Liz.

“Do you want to get off the cart here?” Peggy slowed the horse. “Go in a side door?”

“That is no longer an option.” The drive separated into a large oval and ended at the wide front staircase to the house. A figure stood at the top, backlit by the light spilling through the open front doors.

Marcus stood at military attention, hands clasped behind his back, not moving an inch even as the cart came to a stop at the end of the drive.

“Me and Mr. Todd are out of our positions,” Peggy muttered.

“Nonsense.” Liz handed the silk to Peggy. “You were only following my explicit orders. Understand? You had no choice but to obey.”

Peggy nodded, not looking convinced.

A footman scuttled past Marcus and hurried down the steps. He handed Liz down from the cart. Did he squeeze her hand in unspoken support? Surely, that was her imagination. But even his discreet cough seemed laden with sympathy.

Liz stared up at her husband, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs to pay the piper.

“Good evening, Marcus. Finished the crop rotation schedule already?” She forced cheer into her voice, as though taking cart rides in the wintry night was a common occurrence.

Marcus inhaled sharply. He waited a beat, then turned on his heel. “Follow me.”

Liz scurried after him. His shoulders were hard as bricks beneath his jacket, and remained so all the way up the staircase to the second floor and down the long hall to his chambers. Their chambers, really. The duchess’s apartments were mostly unused as she spent her nights in his bed. She’d thought sharing a bedroom only added to their intimacy, and Marcus had insisted. At moments like this, however, a private space to retreat to sounded most appealing.

She shrugged off her cloak and laid it on the back of the settee in front of the fire. Turning, she stood in front of Marcus and clasped her hands under her stomach. And waited.

“You went to the cliffs.” It wasn’t a question.

Liz nodded.

“Against my express wishes.” A small muscle pulsed in his jaw.

She shook her head. “You didn’t expressly ask me not to go. Not expressly.”

His nostrils flared, and something low in her belly quivered. Why did her husband have to look so handsome when he was angry? It led to perverse incentives on her part. “Do not play games, Elizabeth. Not over this. My words may not have been explicit but you damn sure knew I didn’t want my wife, my pregnant wife, traipsing around the countryside, unattended, at night, trying to spy on …” He faltered, took a step back. His knees hit the edge of the settee and he sank down. “Did you find your quarry?”

“Yes. Nalley and the chandler didn’t steal your key. They were only smuggling.”

Marcus paled.  He tugged at the knot of his cravat. “Only smuggling.”

Liz hurried to him and knelt at his side. She ran her palm up and down his tense thigh. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I thought Nalley had your key, and you weren’t listening to my suspicions. I wanted to help you.”

“Help me.” Marcus’s repetition of her words was starting to worry her.

Her heart burned. He sat so stiffly, seemed so removed, and she hated that she’d done that to him. Given him any hint of fear for her safety. He’d had enough loss and worry to last ten lifetimes. She laid her head on his thigh and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you think I had stopped investigating?” He gripped her shoulder, his fingers digging into her skin. “That I needed your assistance? I dismissed your talk of Nalley because I knew he was a smuggler. I understood what you had overheard even if you did not.”

She jerked away from him. “What? Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“My work for the Crown is my responsibility. My job.” He ran his eyes over her body, and then, as though to reassure himself all of her bits were still in one piece, he followed his gaze with his hands, running them up her arms, trailing his fingers across her collarbone. “Your job is to care for the safety of our unborn child.” He feathered his fingers over her neck and across her jaw, touching her as if she were as delicate as blown glass.

Anger flared in her chest. She was tired of being treated as though she could shatter. Tired of being coddled. Marcus had stopped treating her as a partner, and started treating her as a pet.

She brushed his hand away and stood. She paced to the fire and back. “So, if I weren’t pregnant my actions would have been acceptable?”

“No.” He rose and crossed his arms over his chest. “Because my other job, my most important job, is to take care of you.”

She held her fists to her sides. “I’m not a child, Marcus. And I’m not naïve. As you well know, I’ve seen much of the depravity of our world.”

A divot puckered the skin between his eyebrows. “I know that. You’ve been through more than any woman ought, and I have made it my purpose to ensure that you never have to face such things again.”

“Do you think I enjoy knowing the places where your job takes you? That you face danger with every task the Crown sets for you, while I sit at home and can do nothing but pray for your safety?”

“Of course not.” He dipped his head to look her directly in the eyes. “But—”

“But you’re a man so you can accept danger where I cannot.”

“Liz?” He reached for her. “What is the matter? This conversation is more than about just tonight. Are you”—he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing—“unhappy?” The thought looked as though it sliced him like a knife.

She grabbed his wrists, holding him tight. “No, of course not. I love you, Marcus, and I love our life. But …” She looked away.

“But?”

“When we first married, it seemed like there was nothing we couldn’t do, as long as we were together.” Liz rubbed her belly. Marcus had given her so much support. The strength to fight her demons. Even now, life with Marcus was near to perfect. But she was greedy. Marcus had shown her everything life had to offer, and she wanted it all. She refused to accept being less in his eyes. “Now it seems as though we lead separate lives at times.”

She focused on smoothing the tail of his cravat, not wanting to look directly at him, not wanting him to see the gathering tears. “You used to share most everything with me. You trusted me, wanted to hear my opinions, my thoughts. When we met, I was disgraced, so far beneath you it was considered a privilege to shine your boots. Now, I’m a duchess and I feel less like your equal than when I was simply Miss Wilcox.”

Marcus slid his eyes closed and dropped his forehead to rest against her own. “Liz.” Her name on his lips sounded as raw as an open wound. His ragged breath shuddered across her cheek. “You brought light to my life, lit it up as brightly as a thousand sunrises.” Raising his head, he cupped her face between his hands. “You are precious to me. The best part of me. And if I have made you feel anything less than that, for even a moment, I’ve failed as your husband.”

She burrowed her cheek into his palm, her heart squeezing. She’d known it, known his love. But hearing it expressed aloud still fed a need within. “You’re a wonderful husband, Marcus. It is just in this one area that I’ve felt something lacking.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “I do respect your opinions but I don’t know what you expect from me. I can’t let you face danger, not if I can prevent it.”

She smiled. “I don’t expect you to take me on your missions.” She might sometimes want it, but she knew that was too much to ask from her protective husband. “I simply want you to treat me as though I am an intelligent adult, not a child to be seen and not heard. Someone capable of listening to your problems and giving advice.”

He skimmed his palm down her neck, under her scarf, and rested it over her heart. The heat and pressure of his hand was strong, reassuring, and warmed her straight through. “That I can do,” he said.

She tucked herself into his chest and sighed. These were the moments she lived for. She should have raised her concerns to Marcus the first moment she felt him pulling away, not let it fester. Not let her desire to prove herself overcome her good sense.

“It was foolish of me to attempt to spy on the smugglers,” she admitted. “If they hadn’t been basically good men, the night could have ended much differently.”

“My love.” Marcus tipped her chin up, a small smile dancing around his lips. “I’m glad you understand the imprudence of your actions this night. But because you acknowledge your error, it doesn’t mean I can let your behavior go unpunished.”

Gooseflesh rose on her skin. She adored hearing how he felt about her from his own lips, but when he showed it...

She thought about acting coy. There were nights when they both enjoyed her resistance. Tonight, though, she wanted nothing between them, not even playful artifice.

“Yes, Marcus.” Slowly, she slid her scarf off and tossed it to the settee before sitting down upon it. “I am sorry I deceived you. I should have spoken of my concerns with you sooner.” She removed her boots and flexed her feet. “And not frozen my toes in the snow.”

Marcus drew her up and turned her around to face the fire. He flicked open the top button to her dress. “Perhaps you didn’t speak because you thought I would not listen. Or perhaps it was so we would arrive at this point.” Another button disappeared, another. Air brushed her nape a moment before he pressed a kiss to the exposed patch of skin.

“Yesss.” Liz leaned back into him. Her husband liked to control his surroundings, was ruled by discipline and order. He had the same exacting standards for those around him. And when it came to Liz, he took enforcing the consequences for her actions to a personal level. He called them punishments, but they both knew better. No punishment could feel so tantalizing. Every chastisement only brought them closer.

He pushed her dress down her body. When he rose, he skimmed his fingers up her thighs, hooking them under her shift and pulling it up over her head. She was left bare save for her stockings.

“Do you want me on the bed or over the settee?” She liked both positions. With her burgeoning abdomen, his lap had become awkward. Which was one of the many reasons she was eager to have her child. She missed the feeling of being draped over his hard thighs.

“Neither.” Silk whispered over wool. Marcus slid his cravat off his neck. “Hold out your hands.”

Liz raised them in front of her.

He wound the silk around her wrists then turned for the bed, tugging her behind him. He stopped at the mattress and lifted the free ends of the cravat to the canopy. He pushed aside the tester and tied the ends of the silk about the wood frame.

Liz’s arms stretched upward. The fronts of her thighs pressed against the bed. A trickle of anticipation skipped through her veins.

“Are you chilled?” Marcus flattened his hand and ran it down her spine.

She arched into his touch. “No.”

His caress drifted lower. He rubbed the plump flesh of her rear, raising blood to the surface. “Do you feel any discomfort?”

Liz flexed her hands. “No.”

“Good.” Marcus smoothed his left hand around her hip and up over her ribs to cup her breast. He circled his thumb around her nipple and moved in close behind her. The wool of his trousers scratched against her skin.

Liz wriggled against him, and he bit her lightly at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. She panted, her skin growing damp as the temperature of the room seemed to soar.

Marcus cupped her sex with his right hand as he toyed with her breast with his left.

A bead of sweat rolled down between her collarbone. Perhaps it wasn’t the room. Perhaps it was all Marcus and his talented hands.

He traced his finger around her clit. “Not cold. No discomfort. How about needy? Do you ache for me, Liz?”

She rocked her hips into his hand. The pressure at her wrists grew as her body began to dissolve. Her legs didn’t want to hold her upright. “Yes. Please, Marcus.”

“Let’s see, shall we?” He shifted, and his cock pressed against her lower back. He trailed his fingers through her tight curls.

She widened her stance, eager.

He didn’t make her wait. Dragging his fingertip through her slit, he found her opening. He pressed into her. “Mmm.” His chest rumbled against her back. “So damn needy.”

“Marcus …” Her nipples drew into stiff points, and he scraped his thumbnail over a hardened nub.

Without warning, he stepped back, and Liz wanted to cry out from the loss. But she knew better. Knew that if she was patient her reward would be worth the wait.

She exhaled a long, steady breath. Closing her eyes, she focused her mind on her remaining senses.

The lingering scent of her perfume teased her nose, along with a hint of leather. The sound of a wardrobe door opening met her ear.

Liz curled her toes into the soft rug. Marcus kept many interesting things in that wardrobe.

Although his feet were silent, she sensed when he came to stand behind her. The air grew thick between them, heavy with anticipation.

The whisper in the air was her only warning. The sting across her arse more intense than she’d expected.

She gasped. The stripe of pain was already transforming into delicious heat when she peeked over her shoulder. Marcus stood several feet behind her. He’d removed his jacket and shirt, leaving his glorious chest bare. His black trousers were molded to his hips, his large erection pressing against the falls. He tapped the leather tongue of a crop against the shaft of his right boot and raised one eyebrow.

“Eyes forward.” His voice had taken on that tenor, the one that turned her knees to jelly and made her nipples tingle. “Did you really think for so egregious an infraction a simple spanking would do?”

She turned her head and pressed her eyes closed. She hadn’t really thought upon it. That was the delight of a spanking; she didn’t have to think. Her mind went blissfully blank for those few precious moments, where all she had to do was feel.

“You disobeyed my wishes.” Another lick of heat stung her left cheek. “Put yourself and our child at risk, from the biting cold if not from a rogue band of smugglers.” Two lashes came in quick succession.

Liz whimpered. All the distress of the day rose to the surface. Her hurt with Marcus’s dismissal, her anger at the thief, the fear that had spiked into her heart when she and Peggy had been caught on the cliff. It all became too much.

She pulled at her bonds. The silk at her wrists began to chafe. Her arse felt like it was on fire. And still she wanted more. Wanted Marcus’s firm hand controlling her body, directing her responses, until she felt like crawling out of her own skin. She needed him to break her open, let the flood of emotions burst forth and ebb away. 

Marcus stepped forward and rubbed her throbbing flesh until it dulled to a pleasant ache. He placed the tongue of the crop on the back of her knee and leisurely traced a path up her inner thigh. “Six more lashes, Liz. Count them out for me.”

“Marcus, please.” Was she asking for more of the whipping or for him to release her and take her until she screamed? Her body didn’t know. It only knew it needed.

He slipped the shaft of the crop between her legs and rubbed the soft leather over her clit.

Liz whimpered.

He flicked his wrist and slapped the tongue on her nub, the nip of pain exquisite. “Six.” He drew back, his breathing heavy, proof that she wasn’t the only one affected.

The crop hissed through the air, and a line of fire flared across her rear end.

“One,” she whispered.

Two quick strikes, and Liz was digging her fingernails into her palms hard enough to leave marks.

“Two, three.” Liz squeezed her thighs together. This was sweet torment. Only Marcus could drive her mad like this.

Her back arched as the forth blow struck her upper thighs.

She moaned. “Four.”

“Will you go traipsing about unprotected at night again?” Marcus stepped close, caressing her burning skin.

“No, never.” She pressed back into his palm. She never wanted to leave his side. “Please, Marcus.”

He placed a wet kiss on her shoulder, his devilish lips curving against her skin. “All right, my sweet.” His body heat disappeared.

The last two blows came quickly. Her ‘five’ and ‘six’ were bare whispers. Her whole body shook, the canopy above her creaking.

Marcus gathered her in his arms as he worked the knot off her wrists.

Liz turned her face and burrowed it in his throat. She inhaled deeply, drinking in his familiar scents of leather and bay rum. Marcus always smelled like home.

He laid her on her side on top of the coverlet. With deft fingers, he untied the ribbons that held up her stockings and eased the garments down her legs. When she was completely bare, he shucked his boots and trousers. He revealed every inch of his own skin, burnished golden in the firelight.

Her breath caught when her husband stood naked before her. He was truly magnificent. The first hints of silver teased his temples, and Liz expected the arrival of their child would bring more. But the hint of age suited him, only made her duke that much more distinguished.

She reached out, and he slipped his hand inside hers as he crawled onto the bed. He brought their joined hands to his chest and squeezed. “My love, don’t frighten me so again,” he whispered.

“Never again.” She tucked her knees up to her belly as Marcus settled behind her.   

He dug the fingers of one hand into her hip, the other above her right knee. The head of his cock prodded her entrance before slipping inside. Slowly, he pressed forward.

Marcus dropped his head back. “My God, you feel so tight like this.”

Liz gripped the pillow beneath her head. Yes, this had become one of her favorite positions since their child had made its presence known.

Marcus swept his hand up her side and palmed her breast. He bent low and placed his mouth over her nipple. He lashed her with his tongue while he plunged deep, the dual sensations driving her mad.

He raised his other hand and brought it down hard on her sensitive bum.

Liz shuddered. With her on her side and Marcus behind her, he had access to every part of her that mattered. She arched her spine, meeting him thrust for thrust, loving the way his skin slapped against hers. The muscles in her core twitched.

Marcus reared up, scraping his fingers along her arse, and the heat from his punishment merged with the heat blossoming in her sex. He pressed forward, holding himself tight to her pelvis. He caressed her face before drawing his hand down to rest at the base of her throat. He gazed down at her, his eyes glistening. “You’re everything to me, Liz. My life. My heart.”

Liz barely felt the bed beneath her. Her body felt weightless. “I love you, too. With everything I am.” She loved him more than she’d thought possible.

A tiny hole opened in her heart. She wasn’t going to discover his thief this Christmas. It had seemed like such a better gift than the scarf she’d knitted.

He lowered his hand to her rounded belly. And as though he’d read her mind, he said, “You’ve given me everything. A love most men could only dream of and now a babe, to carry on our line. This is my best Christmas ever.”

She laced her fingers through his. She thought of next year’s Christmas, when their child would have arrived to share in the joy. And the one after that, where a brother or sister might add to the merriment. Her throat clogged with emotion. “Each one will only get better.”

For them. She chewed on her bottom lip. How many lives would be hurt because Marcus’s key had gone missing? It didn’t seem fair that her life was so wondrous while other lives were destroyed with intrigue and deceit.

Marcus sighed and shook his head. “I can see that you are still thinking about my missing key.” He tutted. “I must be doing something wrong if worry touches you here in bed.”

She blew out a breath. “Marcus, you know that you are most talented in your marital duties, but I do feel that you have a misconception about women. We do not become mindless puddles of jelly simply from being bedded.” She considered those talents of her husband. “Or if we do, the effects do not last o’er long.”

He bent over her and pressed his nose to hers. “Is that so?”

She darted her tongue out and licked the plump part of his lip. “Our current conversation seems proof enough.”

His smile turned wolfish. “Challenge accepted.” Rearing up, he scooped one arm under her legs and shifted her higher.

Liz dug her fingers into the pillow. With the new angle, she felt full to bursting. Marcus eased back, his flesh sliding against her every nerve ending. He paused, only the crown notched in her sheath. Staring down at their connection, his chest heaved. Nostrils flaring, he slammed back home.

Liz moaned. She didn’t know which felt better; the actual penetration or the smack of Marcus’s pelvis against her bottom. Marcus pulled back and repeated the action. Liz’s need wound tighter and tighter with each thrust and slap.

Needing more, but having no control over Marcus’s pace, Liz squeezed her thighs together.

Marcus groaned and pounded into her so hard she swore she felt him in her womb.

A languid smile danced around the edges of her lips. It looked like she did have some control after all.

Her muscles coiled tight. Her breathing grew short, choppy. She pulled the pillow to her mouth and bit into the silk.

She was close. She reached for her crisis, her body climbing nearer and nearer but never seeming to reach the peak.

“Marcus …” The backs of her eyes burned with unmet need.

His middle finger slid along the crease of her arse. He circled her tight rim, making her suck in a gasp.

“That’s it, my love.” He dipped his finger inside, pressing past her ring of muscles. The new sensation made her mind go white. Nothing mattered but that moment. Nothing but the pleasure Marcus gave and took in return. He matched the plunge of his finger with the drive of his hips. “Take it. Take everything.”

Her vision blurred, everything inside of her narrowing until Liz squeezed her eyes shut and let her mind float along with her body. Lights sparkled behind her lids a moment before her body exploded in sharp pulses of pleasure. Wave after wave crashed upon her, like a storm breaking against the cliffs.

She buried her face in the pillow and screamed. Fine tremors coursed through her body until at last she sagged into the mattress.

Marcus smoothed his hand up her belly, over her chest and throat, to cup her cheek. He tilted her face up. “Beautiful.”

Liz turned her head and sucked the tip of his thumb into her mouth.

He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Chasing his own release, every muscle in his body tensed until he seemed carved from marble. He closed his eyes a moment before his mouth dropped open on a long groan. He spent deep inside of her, grinding his hips into her arse, eking out every ounce of pleasure.

He slumped, his thumb slipping through her teeth as he planted his palms into the mattress on either side of her head. He breathed heavily, and beads of sweat glistened on his shoulders.

Liz wrapped her arms around his back and drew him to lay down beside her.

Throwing a leg over her thigh, he held her close. His heart beat slowed against her chest.

Liz snuggled into his heat. Wrapped in his arms, she knew there was no place else she’d rather be.

“Any thoughts on my key?”

“Hmmm?” Liz struggled against the fog drifting through her brain, trying to focus on his words.

Marcus laughed, his chest rumbling against hers. “And you thought I couldn’t make you mindless.”

Liz wanted to frown, but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. He’d been right. A touch from Marcus could make her forget everything but him.

She yawned and burrowed closer.

Marcus reached across her and drew the coverlet over their bodies. He slid his hand under the fabric and patted her bottom. “Silly wife,” he murmured. “Meeting with smugglers.”

Liz scratched her fingers through his chest hair. “They were really quite sweet. Offered me whiskey. Sold me silk at cost.”

“Whiskey!?”

“To keep me warm.” Her jaw cracked with her second yawn. “I refrained, of course.”

“Of course,” he said dryly.

“Nalley did mention something interesting.”

“What was that?” Marcus brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

“That you are a frequent customer at his tavern.” She blinked up at him, frowning.

One side of his mouth crooked up. “Only for business meetings, darling. I wouldn’t want to meet with any bounders, as you call them, here at Hartsworth. Besides, his liquor is third-rate. I prefer to drink at home.”

She poked him in the chest. “Only because of the quality of spirits?”

“The quality of the company is far superior here, as well.” He gave her bum another soft pat.

That was better. She burrowed closer. Sleep tugged at her eyes and she let them ease closed. “Oh, and Marcus? Nalley will be by on the morrow. I didn’t have any coin on me and told him to ask you for payment.”

“Oh, I will take care of Nalley tomorrow, have no doubt.”

Liz smiled at his grumbling. He might have harsh words for the barkeep, but his bark would be worse than his bite.

Although his bite was pretty darn delicious, too.

Chapter Six

“How much longer do you propose we wait?” Marcus adjusted the collar of her cloak, pulling the edges close together. “It has been nigh on an hour. The servants would be expecting us back soon.”

Liz peeled her gaze from the spy hole and frowned at her husband. They stood in an old servants’ tunnel that ran behind his library. The tunnels had been built so the domestics could attend to their duties with the minimum amount of intrusion into the lives of those they served. As though making an entire class of people invisible increased one’s social stature. Fortunately, Marcus didn’t believe in such antiquated nonsense.

The tunnels did make it easy to spy, however.

Her husband’s face was a dark shadow except for the slash of light that came through the slit in the wall and crossed his stubbled jaw and lips. She sighed at the tight press of his lips.

“It will take as long as it takes.” She returned to her post. “And if no one shows this afternoon to try to steal the music box, then we’ll have to return tonight. Whoever it is may be too busy with their duties to thieve while we are supposed to be out on a carriage ride.”

Marcus had grudgingly allowed her to go through with the plan she’d devised that morning. Most likely more to show he valued her opinions than because he anticipated its success, but still. He was allowing her in on the hunt.

He moved behind her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I thought you didn’t believe it was one of our servants who had taken the key.”

She pressed her fingers into the rough stone wall. “I don’t want to believe it.” And the fact that no one had yet appeared in Marcus’s library gave her hope. “But if it wasn’t Nalley and the chandler, there aren’t many other options.” She drew her shoulders back. “No, telling several of the girls that you’d received a beautiful music box yesterday is the best way to flush out the culprit. You know how the maids like to gossip. Everyone in Hartsworth will have heard of it by now.”

Marcus plucked a pin from her hair. His breath was hot on her ear a moment before he softly pressed his lips to the flesh. “I don’t know how the maids conduct themselves, but I’ll accept your judgment on the matter. But it is too cold in this passageway for you to remain much longer.” The tip of his tongue traced down her throat, past her pulse point and to her collarbone.

She leaned back into his firm hold. “What are you doing?”

He removed another pin, and her hair tumbled from its knot. “Why, keeping my wife warm, of course.”

“But …”

Marcus swept his hand under her cloak and tugged down the bodice of her gown. Her breast tumbled into his palm.

“Oh my,” she breathed. She cleared her throat. “Marcus,” she said, trying to make her voice stern, “we are here to observe your library. I can hardly keep a close eye when”—he gathered up the skirts of her gown with his other hand—“when … you keep doing that.”

“Hmm.” He kept his hands busy, making her melt against him. “I say we can do both.” He maneuvered them closer to the stone wall. Nudging her cloak aside with his chin, he kissed the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “You’ll keep your gaze fixed to my library, no matter what I do.” His hand made a creative exploration, and she gasped. “And you won’t move,” he finished, his voice holding all the sternness that she had only hoped for.

Eager for the game, Liz bent her head. She would withstand his delicious torment. She would fix the library in her gaze until—

“Marcus!” she said in an excited whisper.

He bit her shoulder. “Moving your lips qualifies as moving. Hush.”

The back of a shoulder in a dark blue coat wedged further through the doorway into Marcus’s library. It looked as though whoever was sneaking into Marcus’s private room was speaking to someone still in the hall. She leaned closer. Two thieves?

Marcus rubbed his finger along the seam of her sex. A callous scraped against her clit, almost making her jump out of her skin. Lord, she loved that her duke didn’t have the soft hands of a nobleman. A pampered fop just wouldn’t do.

She shook her head. And that was completely irrelevant at the moment. “But Marcus—”

He scored her throat with his teeth. “I see someone wants to feel my palm across her fine arse.”

Well, yes, that went without saying, but really her husband could be too single-minded at times. She turned her head to glare at the infuriating man. “Someone. Is. Entering. Your. Library.” She enunciated the words as clearly as possible.

Unfortunately, it had its desired effect. Marcus dropped his hands from her body and brushed her to the side. “What?” He bent, pressing his eye to one of the spy holes.

Liz shoved in next to him and peered through the other. “See! I told you my plan would work. Now, as soon as he turns around we’ll know …”

The man in the blue coat stepped through fully, pulling a woman with Liz’s dark mahogany hair in behind him. He turned, and toed the door shut.

Liz’s shoulders drooped. “Oh. It’s only Julius and Amanda.” Wait, why was that disappointing? Her sister had arrived! A day early, but their rooms were already prepared. She turned, eager to greet the couple.

Marcus wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To welcome my sister and brother-in-law?”

Marcus palmed her abdomen and eased his hand over its swell, following a path Liz loved. “Not until we finish what we’ve started in here.”

Her greeting could afford to wait a few minutes more. She pressed her palm into the rough stone wall and her gaze fell to the spy hole again. A giggle slipped through her lips.

“Something amusing?” Marcus sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth.

She raised one shoulder. “I’m not the only one who likes my mistletoe. Unlike you, your friend seems to appreciate its purpose just fine.”

“What?” Marcus pressed his face to the stone and peered through the slit. He cursed under his breath. “Not on my bloody chair!” Shoving his shoulder into the wall, he forged forward until the hidden door pushed open three feet. “Julius! Cover your woman and get off my chair.”

Liz fought her smile and brushed past her husband. “Mandy!” She hurried to her sister, her fully-clothed sister, who jumped up from her husband’s lap. Really, Marcus was all too prone to exaggeration. The couple had only been stealing a kiss under the mistletoe.

She and Amanda embraced. It had been too long. Three months since their last visit. Liz stepped back. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Amanda pulled the edges of Liz’s cloak apart. Her eyebrows shot up. “Me too. I wouldn’t want to miss seeing my little sister grow as large as a house.”

Liz slapped her hands away. “I am no such thing. I’m only as large as a cottage. It will take a couple more months for me to grow house-sized.”

Marcus kissed her cheek then leaned in to give Amanda one, too. “And you’ll be a very fine house, indeed. Good afternoon, sister.” He stepped around them to shake Julius’s hand. “We weren’t expecting you till the morn.”

“We made good time,” Julius said, “and Amanda was eager to see Hartsworth ornamented for the holidays.”

“And my sister.” Amanda pinched her husband’s arm, shaking her head. She turned to Liz. “But truly, this place looks wondrous. Boughs of evergreen and sprigs of holly everywhere.”

“Yes, do you have any trees still standing on your property?” Julius reached above the desk and pulled a berry from the mistletoe. “What?” he asked when Marcus raised an eyebrow. “’Tis the tradition. One berry removed for every kiss stolen underneath. I’m disappointed in you that there are still so many remaining on the ball.”

Marcus sighed and turned his back on his friend. “Amanda, are you hungry? Shall we retire for refreshments?”

Liz clapped her hands together. “Ooh, let’s go to the Green Drawing Room. I want to show Amanda our tree. Can you have the refreshments sent there?”

“Of course.” Marcus moved to the bell pull as Liz threaded her arm through Amanda’s.

She strolled down the hall, peppering her sister with questions. “You’ve recovered fully from that fever you wrote me about? And how is Reggie? And why didn’t you bring him?”

Amanda laughed. “I did, sister. But Reg is a smart dog. His first stop at Hartsworth is the kitchens. Mrs. Todd is generous with her scraps.”

“I still can’t believe you stole my dog.” But there was no heat in Liz’s words. Reggie had gone where he was most needed. Liz rubbed her lower back as they entered the drawing room.

“How do you truly fare?” Amanda stopped and turned to face her. “I was too young to remember our mother during her confinement with you.” She pressed her hand to Liz’s abdomen. “We have no experience in this matter. No one to give you advice.”

Liz patted her hand. “Marcus has the doctor out every other week. I am being well taken care of. Now, turn around and compliment me on our Christmas tree.”

Amanda’s chocolate eyes crinkled with amusement. “All right.” She turned and clapped her hands together. “Liz! What an extraordinary tree you have.”

“Fine.” Liz rolled her eyes. “Make sport, but even you have to admit it is lovely. I think even Queen Charlotte herself would think so.”

The yew tree stood in a large wooden tub, the top of it reaching nearly eight feet. The ribbons Liz had chosen darted in and out of the boughs. Paper-wrapped bundles of sweetmeats, almonds, and raisins hung from the branches, and small white candles were wired to the tips. Liz and several of the maids had fashioned ornaments of thick colored paper cut into the shape of snowflakes and set them to dangle from the tree’s limbs.

Marcus and Julius walked in, heads close together as they spoke.

Liz turned to her husband. “Can we light the candles tonight?”

“Of course.”

Julius stopped next to Amanda and blinked up at the tree. “Good lord above. It’s as though Saint Nicolas became ape-drunk on wassail and cast up his accounts in here.”

Amanda elbowed him in the ribs. “It is beautiful. Almost as pretty as that music box you’ve brought for Marcus.”

Marcus started. “You have it? I thought Dunkeld was acquiring the box.”

“He was and he did.” Julius shrugged. “He knew I was seeing you so gave it to me to deliver. A present for us to open on Christmas.”

Liz exchanged a glance with Marcus.

“What?” Julius looked between them. “What is it?”

Marcus stepped to his friend and gripped his shoulder. “Let’s sit down and discuss it. We don’t need to disturb the ladies.”

Liz pressed her lips together and shook her head. Some habits were hard to break, but she knew Marcus was trying. Besides, she didn’t need to be involved in that conversation; she already knew the particulars.

Walking to a sideboard, Liz plucked a lit taper from a silver candelabra and strolled to the tree. “Would you like to do the honors?” she asked her sister.

Amanda took the taper. “I’d be delighted.” She bent to the candles on the lower branches first, working her way up. “I don’t suppose I could have one of the treats tied to the tree? I know they’re usually left for children, but I am famished after our trip. Just a little to tide me over until the refreshments arrive.”

Liz tutted. “Stealing treats from children,” she said with a smile in her voice as she reached for a bundle of wrapped sweetmeats. Her hand knocked the bough, setting it to jiggling. An unexpected shape glimmered in the corner of her eye.

Liz froze. “Marcus,” she whispered.

“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked. She blew out her candle and hustled to Liz.

Liz shook her head. It couldn’t be. It made no sense. “Marcus,” she called, her voice louder. “Come take a look.”

Footsteps padded behind her. “I’ve seen your tree.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “It does look nice all alit, I must say.”

“Not that. Although, thank you.” She pointed at the ornament swinging from a ribbon. “That!”

“My lord,” he breathed. He stretched his hand over her shoulder and pulled the turtle-dove from the tree. “It’s the key. How on earth did it end up here?”

“The key?” Julius stepped next to them. “Thank the heavens. I wasn’t looking forward to attempting to break into the box.”

A maid stepped into the room, pushing a food cart in front of her. “Shall I set the food on the table? Oh.” She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward, a smile curving her lips. “I think that one’s my favorite. Do you like it, Your Grace?”

“Your favorite.” Marcus’s voice was sharp, but then, it usually was.

The maid took no account of it. She stroked a finger along the lacquered wing of the bird.

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked. “Have you seen this before?”

“Why, of course, Your Grace. I hung it on the tree.”

“You—”

Liz squeezed his arm. “Sally, how did you come upon this?”

“Why, you remember, Ma’am.” The girl cocked her head. “We were in the library, going through your boxes of ribbons and buttons and whatnot. This was in one of the boxes. I thought if I strung a bit of ribbon around its neck it would make a right nice ornament.” She clasped her hands together. “Don’t you like it? You did want lots of decoration on the tree.”

“Yes,” Liz said faintly. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Marcus’s gaze burned into her back, willing her to turn to face him. She fought the pull. Nothing good could come from facing his knowing look.

“Indeed.” Marcus rested his hand on Liz’s shoulder. “And this box where you found the … ornament. It was sitting on the desk with the others, not in my desk drawer?”

Sally’s mouth rounded in shock. “Of course, it was, Your Grace. I would never go into your desk.”

“Of course. My apologies for insinuating otherwise.” Marcus stepped in front of Liz and turned, leaving her no choice but to either marvel at the starch in his cravat or meet his gaze.

She sniffed and tilted her chin. She tried to look every bit the haughty duchess.

A dark smile slowly unfurled across Marcus’s face. “Thank you, Sally. That will be all.”

Aptly sensing the tone of the conversation, Sally scurried out of the drawing room, shooting a pitying look at Liz as she fled.

Liz swallowed. “Now really Marcus, you cannot blame the girl—”

“Oh, I’m not blaming Sally.” He advanced a step. “I know exactly who pulled the box from my desk.”

“But you know I was storing some of my ribbons in your library.” She hastened backwards, her hip knocking the edge of a settee. She scuttled around behind, putting the piece of furniture between them. She didn’t remember taking the box out, but she had been digging through his drawer for some paper. The tiny mistake must have occurred then. “And need I remind you that if you had only told me about the key in the first place, none of this would have happened. I would have been more careful about the boxes I removed from your desk.”

Amanda strode to the food cart and filled a plate high with food. “I think I’ll go find Julius. We can eat in our room.”

Liz narrowed her eyes. Traitorous sister. And after all that Liz had done for her. “Wait!” Her gaze bounced around the room. “Where is Julius? You’re our guests. Any disagreement Marcus and I have can be discussed later.” After his thrill of catching her out had ebbed. “I didn’t even hear him leave.”

“He treads lightly.” Amanda walked backwards toward the door. “And you know I love you sister, but I have no wish to be your bulwark.”

“Why does Elizabeth need a bulwark?” Julius entered the room, a square box clutched in his hands. He closed the door behind him.

“Is that the music box?” Marcus’s gaze sharpened on his friend’s burden.

Liz breathed a sigh of relief. She knew this conversation wasn’t over, just as she knew Marcus truly wasn’t angry with her, either. He had the box, he had the key. All was well that ended well.

But he wouldn’t let her forget her part in the key’s disappearance. Her bottom tingled at the thought.

She used to question their intimate acts. Wonder what it said about her that she enjoyed submitting to her husband’s discipline. Tried to puzzle out why she felt cleansed after a session over Marcus’s knee, and since that was so, why she sometimes resisted his control.

Marcus and Julius made their way to the low table in front of the settee. Julius set the box down and pulled a gold gilt music box from its depths.

Her husband took the turtle-dove and inserted its base into a slot on the top of the box. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows drew close in concentration.

Liz’s skin heated. Now, she no longer questioned anything about her desire for this man: for his kiss, the caress of his finger, the stroke of his cock.

The sting of his palm.

All of it, every part of their intimacies bound her closer to her husband and freed her to be her best self. Marcus gave her peace of mind when her brain was bursting with worries, soothed her body when her muscles were tight with tension. Every touch, whether sensual or demanding, gave her something she needed.

A strange pinch nipped at her belly. From the inside out. Liz’s jaw dropped. She pressed her hand to her abdomen and felt her child give another kick.

“Here we go.” Marcus turned the turtle-dove counterclockwise until it clicked. He released the key and stepped back.

The music box came to life. As the bird twirled in a circle, the melancholy melody of Greensleeves sounded through the room.

Liz stepped next to Marcus and rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s beautiful.” Taking his hand, she placed it on her stomach. When he started, she knew that he’d felt it, too. Their child. Their future. A future of laughter. Of love. Of fights, and their resulting reconciliations and tempting punishments. Christmas must truly be a season of hope, because Liz felt only promise for the future.

“I don’t understand,” Amanda said. “What’s supposed to happen?”

“Just wait.” Julius stood behind her and wrapped his arms around his wife.

They watched the bird spin and twirl to the haunting music. When the last strains of the song drifted into silence, a small drawer at the bottom of the box popped open. A folded piece of parchment lay within, dotted with suspicious dark red blotches.

Marcus carefully pulled the letter out and unfolded the paper. His eyes scanned the document. “Happy Christmas to England. This might be the best gift yet.”

Liz smiled. No, that letter was important, but there were better gifts. She rubbed her abdomen. The one to come. And the ones she’d already received.

Marcus tucked the letter into his breast pocket and stood next to Liz, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Nothing surpassed the gift of the love of a good man.

Liz circled her arms around Marcus’s waist and squeezed.

His love … and his firm hand.

Marcus’s Epilogue

Marcus’s heart leapt when he saw her. It always did. His Liz was a masterpiece. Her heart, her bravery, and her determination shone through in every plane of her face, in every line of her body.

And right now, she was holding that body most precariously, one slippered foot balanced on the needle-point cushion of an armchair, one hand gripping a yew branch for balance as she tucked a bit of white ribbon high onto a bough.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus pressed the door to the drawing room closed and turned the key in the lock. He didn’t need their guests or servants walking in on this. Had he thought his wife determined? Obstinate and foolish more like.

Not wanting to surprise Liz, he prowled across the Aubusson rug on silent feet to stand behind her. Her hips lifted, her pert arse shifting beneath the fine wool gown she wore as she rolled onto the ball of her foot.

Everything in Marcus hardened, and a predatory smile stretched his lips. With the toe of his boot, he knocked the leg of the chair and caught Liz beneath the knees and waist as she tumbled with a delightful shriek.

All right. Perhaps he enjoyed surprising his wife. At the appropriate times.

He turned and sat on the chair, settling Liz on his lap. “Wife, I declare you will be the death of me. What do you think you’re doing climbing on furniture, hanging off trees, in your condition?”

Liz pushed an errant lock of hair off of her cheek with the back of her hand. “Really, Marcus, that was completely unnecessary. Scaring me like that, you should be ashamed.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t the one risking harm to our child. Again.” He palmed her swollen belly. If he could wrap Liz and his unborn babe in gauze, he would. She might think him too stern when it came to her safety, and perhaps he was. But Liz knew how he liked his rules. Knew he expected her to take better care.

And knew what the consequences were for breaking them.

The corners of his mouth itched with the effort to keep from grinning.

Liz had just delivered the perfect gift for the both of them that Christmas morn.

“I have stood on chairs all my life when necessary to reach on high.” Liz wrapped an arm around his shoulder and wiggled on his lap. “You really are too much.”

Marcus peeled the edge of her fichu from under the corner of her bodice. Inches of creamy flesh were revealed, and blood rushed to his groin. “Now, darling, you know protesting wins you no favors.” He traced the line of her collarbone with his index finger. It seemed like Liz’s skin had become even softer since her pregnancy. Was that possible? “As an agent of the Crown, I have serious matters to attend to. I cannot be worrying about whether my wife will break her neck or not.”

“Oh!” She tugged on his shoulder, pulling herself to sit up straight. “That reminds me. Did you hear back yet from the prime minister? About your letter?”

He slid the other end of the fichu from the bodice and let it drift to the floor. “Discussing affairs of state will not stop your punishment.”

“Marcus, please. You promised.” She stared up at him, her big brown eyes widening ever so slightly, and Marcus knew he was lost. One look, and he was clay in her hands. He prayed Liz bore him a son. He wouldn’t survive another girl wrapping him around her finger.

He sighed. “I did promise. And I intend to let you be involved in my tasks for the Crown.” Safely at home, where no harm could come to her. She had been right, however. Liz had a sharp mind and would be a useful partner to discuss his jobs with. He had forgotten just how skilled a spy his wife was, perhaps because he didn’t like to remember the circumstances of how they met, and how close he’d come to losing her. “I just left the prime minister’s courier. As it is Christmas, I invited him to sup and rest here for the day.”

Liz yanked on the end of his cravat. “I didn’t inquire about our hospitality to the man.”

He dipped his finger into the valley between her breasts, idly stroking. “The prime minister received my communication. He was able to send a team to the Royal Mint in time. The plot to ruin England’s economy failed.” He inched her skirts up, his fingertips dancing along her inner thigh.

Gooseflesh pebbled her skin. Her breasts stopped moving as she sucked in a breath and held it.

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the patch of skin beneath her ear. “Now, wife, no more delays. Time to pay the consequences for your reckless behavior.” He started to turn her over, but she hesitated.

“The babe …”

“Will be fine.” He widened his legs and settled her so her rounded abdomen rested safely in between his thighs.

She gripped his boot as he raised her skirts. “Marcus,” she whispered when cool air kissed her bare skin.

Marcus placed his hand on her arse and squeezed. “I know.” The moments before a spanking were an enticing allure for him, as well. The anticipation of the sting of flesh striking flesh. The crack that sliced through the air when his palm met her skin. The sight of her beautiful arse shaking with the contact.

His cock grew impossibly hard.

He rubbed a slow circle into her bum, bringing a rosy blush to the skin. Sometimes his Liz needed his hand to crack through her reserve and release her pent-up emotions. Sometimes she needed the added stimulation to achieve orgasm. And other times, like this morning, it just made for fucking diverting bed sport.

“Happy Christmas, my love.” Marcus raised his hand, his palm tingling. His wife was well, happy, and across his lap. There was a child to come.

A very happy Christmas indeed.

****

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Books in the Lords of Discipline series

DISCIPLINED BY THE DUKE (Marcus and Elizabeth’s story)

BOUND BY THE EARL (Julius and Amanda’s story)

BURNING FOR THE BARON (Max and Colleen’s story)

MARKED BY THE MARQUESS (Sinclair and Winnifred’s story) – Coming 2019!

About the Author

Like almost one-third of all romance writers, Alyson Chase is a former attorney. She happily ditched those suits and now works in her pajamas writing about men’s briefs instead of legal briefs. When she’s not writing, she’s probably engaged in one of her favorite hobbies: napping, eating, or martial arts (That last one almost makes up for the first two, right?)  She also writes humorous, small-town, contemporary romance novels under the name Allyson Charles.  