The Duke of Christmas Past by Kim Bowman Read Free Book Online

it. Is it true?" A bit of guilt
gnawed at him for not being completely honest. But his sister had
confessed it to him. He didn't see a reason to point out it had
been the first time he'd lived through Christmas Eve 1812 and not
tonight.
    Tess shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. "I-I
suppose it is."
    "Why?" His voice was no more than a whisper.
    She looked down. "Several reasons."
    He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face so
that she had to meet his gaze. A fiery surge of emotion overwhelmed
him as he stared into the sapphire depths of her eyes, and unable
to contain it any longer, he claimed her mouth with a tender
vengeance. She twined her arms around his neck, returning his ardor
with the same passionate fury, and he deepened the kiss. The way
her lips clung to his only intensified the exquisite feeling of
having her in his arms.
    Breathless, Donovan reluctantly pulled back, but
didn't break contact. He trailed kisses up her cheek, afraid to
stop touching her. Terrified if he did she'd vanish and he'd once
again be alone in his study, consumed with the aching emptiness
that had haunted him for the past eight years.
    He tipped his head back and looked at her. "Promise
me you won't marry that dimwit Norcross." He had no right to ask —
demand — such an assurance. But, heaven help him, he couldn't bear
the thought of her with anyone else.
    "M-m-marry Lord Nor — I — he—"
    Donovan tightened his hold, closing the gap so that
his lips grazed hers. "Just promise me."
    "I-I promise," she said, her voice shaky.
    He captured her lips again in a hungry kiss, parting
them effortlessly. A wave of hot desire swept over him. The
uncontrollable flame coursed through his blood like an amorous
fire. She raked her fingers through his hair, returning his passion
with sweet fervor. Donovan had to have her completely, needed to
feel her skin next to his. He loved her with all his being… he knew
that now. And he had to make her his in every way.
    "…And what should the poor man have done? Let her
leave alone, possibly coming to harm…"
    "…Mr. McDaniel didn't run off with Delia, but
ran after her…"
    The words broke through his sensual haze, sending
cold shivers down his spine. He leaned away from her.
    "Donovan?"
    "A few minutes ago, you said they didn't run off
together, that McDaniel went after Delia." He straightened and sat
back on the seat, watching Tess.
    "Oh… I suppose I did, didn't I." She let out a
sigh.
    "You lied to me." He was surprised to hear the ache
in his voice.
    She placed her hands on his chest, her eyes
beseeching. "I didn't — could never — lie to yo—"
    "When I came to, I asked you where Delia was, and you
told me she and Henry said something about heading to Gretna Green
to marry."
    "No… what I told you was that Delia said they should
just run off to Gretna Green because you'd never consent to letting
them marry. I just didn't mention that he refused. She screamed he
was no better than you and left. Mr. McDaniel said to tell you he'd
see her home safe."
    Donovan was at a loss. A complex mixture of anger,
hurt, bitterness, and disbelief warred within him, making his
senses reel. "Why?"
    Tears glistened in her eyes and she averted her face.
"Because I thought perhaps I could help you see reason — and not
just for Delia. Mostly I did it for you." She looked at him. "If
you succeed in separating Delia and Mr. McDaniel, the spirit will
go out of her eyes and she'll hate you. But not nearly as much as
you'll hate yourself." Her shaky hand came up to rest on his cheek.
"Sometimes the right decision isn't always the best decision."
    A deluge of agony ripped his heart in two. If she
only knew. "And sometimes we aren't given a choice at all." He
leaned forward and tapped on the roof of the carriage. "To my
townhouse."

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