A Wallflower's Christmas Kiss (Connected by a Kiss Book 3) Read online

  “If you didn’t go out in society” —he paused and took a deep breath— “How did you overhear anything at all?” He’d not realized she’d been secluded from society? His informants failed to tell him she’d not returned to ton after her mourning period. But to be fair all he ever asked is if she was happy and healthy. It had been enough to know she was alive and well. The rest would have been a torture he’d not have been able to endure.

  “My father had occasional dinner parties, and I was allowed to attend them.” She continued to run her fingers over his chest. He never wanted her to stop. “And sometimes he’d have a visitor. No one paid me any mind.”

  They were all fools, especially her father. Grayson could take comfort in knowing she’d never endure indifference from him again. No, she’d endure it from him. How was he any better than what she’d been living with. He didn’t like the conclusion he was drawing from himself to her father.

  “As a duchess you’ll be able to command society and set trends,” he said. It was all he could bring himself to offer.

  “I never wanted to be sought after by the ton,” she said quietly. “All I ever wanted was to be loved by one person completely.”

  His heart beat rapidly in his chest. He wanted to hug her tight against him and reassure her he’d love her always, but wouldn’t make a promise he couldn’t keep. Lucky, or maybe unlucky, for him he was saved from responding. The carriage rocked as it hit a jut in the road and wobbled back and forth. Then a crack echoed on the wind as they crashed on the side of the road.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Stabbing pain shot through Juliette’s head. She lifted her hand and placed it over the throbbing ache. What happened? The last thing she recalled was—had Grayson been about to say something? Damn it was all fuzzy inside her head. She rolled to her side and searched for him. He’d been by her side, and keeping her warm, now she was cold and alone.

  “Gray?” she mumbled.

  Juliette scrambled to her feet, her heart raced inside her chest. The carriage was slightly tilted and the door swung open. Wind whistled through the carriage and sending goose bumps up her arm. The biting cold settled deep inside her and if she didn’t do something soon she’d freeze. Where was Grayson? Carefully she slid out of the carriage and stepped wearily onto solid ground. She scanned the area searching for him. Not too far away from the entrance to the carriage she found him sprawled on the ground.

  His eyes were closed and blood dripped from a gash on his forehead. She knelt beside him and cupped his face in her hands. “Grayson.” Her voice wavered with barely restrained emotion. She brushed her fingers through his hair and said, “Please open your eyes.”

  He had to be all right. She refused to accept anything less. It was her fault they were on the road to Scotland. If she’d not insisted they marry he’d be safe at home. Juliette stood and scanned the area. The driver was a few feet ahead sitting on the ground. She rushed to his side and helped him to his feet. “His Grace is injured. I need your help with him.”

  He looked past her and cursed. “We hit a rut in the road and it threw a wheel. We’re still a mile outside the nearest village. I’ll have to ride one of the horses for help.”

  Juliette glanced from Grayson and then back to the driver. It would be up to her to see to Grayson’s care while the driver went for help. The wind was too strong and biting to stay outside the carriage, but tilted as it was they couldn’t sit inside of it either. They couldn’t stay in the cold for too long... “Please hurry. I’ll grab the blankets from the carriage and keep him as warm as possible until you return.”

  “I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone,” he promised.

  The driver unhitched a horse, hopped on its back, and headed toward the nearby town. Juliette prayed he’d return fast. She turned to the carriage and grabbed the blankets. Grayson needed to be kept warm, but she didn’t have a clue how to ensure it. The ground was hard and cold. It wouldn’t provide any of the necessary warmth even with the blankets on top of him. When she’d cuddled with him in the carriage it had helped. Perhaps that was the solution to her problem. If she were to wrap herself over him along with the blankets she’d be able to aide in keeping the cold at bay.

  She spread one blanket over top of him, and then the other over it. Then studied her handiwork. He seemed rather uncomfortable, but it was hard to tell. Maybe something to cushion his head would help. She went back to the carriage and grabbed her hand muff. It was small, but large enough for a pillow to cushion his head. Carefully she lifted his head and placed it underneath. Satisfied with the result, she crawled under the blanket with him and wrapped her arms around his torso.

  The ground was colder than Juliette realized and she shivered involuntarily. She laid her head on his chest and prayed they’d be rescued soon. After several moments warmth began to spread over her. It wasn’t much, but enough to make the cold more bearable.

  “Don’t worry, Gray,” she said. It was more for herself than him. He was unconscious and unlikely to reply. “The driver will be back before we know it. Then we can take sanctuary in a nice warm inn while they fix the wheel. I’m so sorry, more than I can say. This is all my fault.”

  It wasn’t too late to rectify any of it. After she saw him safe and sound in the inn she’d turn back. Marriage to Lord Payne would be awful, but at least she would know Grayson was safe. In the end that was all that mattered to her. He might have complained, and on the outset said no, but he’d come through for her. When she decided to ask for his help she knew he’d not turn her away. There was some of the boy she’d grown up with still in the man—however faint it was.

  She lifted her head and memorized his features. The boy had been soft and more pretty than handsome. The man was breathtaking. The soft edges had formed into high cheekbones, and soft full—kissable lips. He’d refused to kiss her. Juliette craved his lips on hers more than she’d ever wanted anything. One kiss and maybe then she could go on with life, satisfied.

  What if she never got the chance. Should she take it now? Would he be upset if she did? She bit her lip and considered. It would be wrong to do something against his will, but she couldn’t resist kissing him. It wasn’t a kiss the way she wanted, but one of comfort. She leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’ll be by your side as long as you need me.” Then she laid her head on his chest and snuggled against him.

  That is the way she stayed until the driver returned with help. After they had Grayson loaded in the carriage they all headed back toward the village. The innkeeper and a couple of brawny lads helped carry him up to a room they’d prepared. A doctor had been summoned. Juliette sat in the main room and waited for the prognosis. As soon as they let her she’d return to his side. He was her responsibility and she’d make sure he made a full recovery.

  ***

  Someone was beating his head with a hammer. Whoever dared was going to feel the back of his fist in their face. Grayson slowly opened his eyes and found the soft glow of candlelight. Juliet sat in a chair next to the bed. Her head lulled back against the chair. Her dark tresses were unbound and falling over her shoulder. He wanted to reach over and stoke them. They looked so soft inviting—hell everything about her did. Where were they? The last thing he remembered was being in the carriage, and then... Had they been in an accident?

  He stretched his arms and fell back on the bed once again. The sharp pain shooting through his head was agonizing. Grayson lifted his hands and rubbed his temples. The torment dulled to a mild, and tolerable ache.

  “You’re awake,” she said.

  Slowly he turned to meet her gaze. “What happened?”

  “Carriage wheel broke. It will be prepared by morning.”

  That explained part of it, but he still didn’t understand how he ended up in a warm bed with her keeping vigil. “How long have I been out?”

  “Not too long,” she replied. “Well most of the day. You missed the midday meal. The doctor doesn’t want you to have anything heavy. S
o the cook is making you a nice broth. It should arrive shortly if you’re hungry.”

  His stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “I don’t care what the doctor said. Broth won’t be enough. Have them bring me a full meal.”

  Grayson realized he sounded like a petulant child, but his head hurt and he was hungry. The Duke of Kissinger always got what he wanted, and he wanted food, darn it. He turned his head a little too fast and the pain returned in full force. A wince escaped him before he could stop it.

  “You’re being absurd,” she chastised. “Here let me massage your head. Just close your eyes and relax.”

  Juliette sat down on the bed next to him and placed her hands on either side of his head. She pressed her delicate fingers against his temples and rubbed slowly. He moaned in pleasure. The pain disappeared under her careful ministrations. It was amazing and he’d gladly lay there forever if she allowed it.

  A knock echoed through the room and firmly ending the pleasure she’d been administering. She stood quickly and went to see who disturbed their peace. Juliette opened the door and greeted the interloper. Grayson wanted them gone so she could return to attending him. When she returned to his side she carried a tray with two mugs. Steam rose out of each one and his stomach rumbled again at the scents wafting from them.

  “What is that?”

  “These,” she gestured toward them. “Are the broth you didn’t want. Do you wish for me to send them back down to the kitchen?”

  Was she only having broth too? She should have more sustenance. There was no reason for her to abstain—she’d not been injured or had she? “Give me a mug. You should go down to the kitchen and eat something. Broth isn’t enough for you.”

  Juliette shook her head. “Both are for you.” She set the tray on the chair and turned to him. “Let me help you sit up.”

  She thought she was going to take care of him? In a way he supposed she had been. But now that he was awake he’d not let her cater to his every need. The pain was already easing in his head and he could damn well sit up on his own. “I can do it myself.” He struggled to a sitting position and then turned toward her. Grayson flashed her a smug smile. “Hand me a mug.”

  Juliette picked one up and gave it to him. He took a slow sip and let the flavor settle on his tongue. It tasted so damn good he sighed in delight. It was a nice beef broth with a hint of onion and sage. She’d said both were for him. If that was true when would she find sustenance? “Have you eaten?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’ve had plenty to eat.”

  He sipped more broth and stared at her over the rim of the mug. “What are you not telling me?” She was acting rather evasive.

  “Nothing,” she replied a little too fast.

  Grayson narrowed his gaze and said, “I’m not a dimwitt. Tell me now.”

  Juliette fidgeted a moment and then moved toward the chair. She picked up the tray and set it on the bed beside him. Grayson downed the contents of the mug in his hand and set it on the tray. He picked the other one up and took a drink. He waited patiently, or as much as he was able to, for her to speak. She had a confession, or an idiotic notion, and it would take her a moment or two to divulge it. As a child she’d done something similar. It was rather nice to see some things didn’t change.

  “It hasn’t escaped me that you’d not have been hurt if not for me,” she finally said. “If you don’t want to go through with the marriage, I understand. In fact, I think we should return to London. Maybe I can try reasoning with my father.”

  Grayson clenched the mug tightly in his hand. Where did she get these hare-brained ideas from? It wasn’t her fault the wheel broke on the carriage. “Did you sabotage the wheel?”

  “Of course not.” She snorted. “Why would I do that?”

  “Then I fail to see how you’re to blame for any of this.” He took another sip of the broth and waited. She’d have some outlandish reason, and it might prove entertaining—if this whole line of thinking hadn’t already angered him beyond reason.

  “That still doesn’t negate my culpability,” she said. “You would be at home, warm in your own bed if I hadn’t sought your help.” She bit her bottom lip. “You could’ve died, Gray. If that had happened, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “This all could’ve happened at any moment. Don’t bother saying what you’re planned on spouting off next. We’re continuing on to Scotland. You’re going to be my wife and you best adapt to the idea. I keep my promises.”

  “If you’re sure,” she said. “I still think there’s time to go back.”

  He finished the broth and set the mug aside. “Jules, you must realize there’s no turning back. You’re thoroughly compromised. Not only were you in my home unchaperoned, but we’ve been alone in my carriage for hours, and I don’t know how long in this room. Accept your fate—you will be mine forever and always.”

  For the first time since she’d shown up at his home the idea of spending the rest of his life with her by his side—felt right. A weight lifted and he realized he’d been wrong. She’d always been the light in his life. He could be better for her and would be.

  “You’re right,” she agreed.

  “How about that.” He laughed. “Twice in less than a day you’re agreeing with me, or has it been more than that. Keep it up and it will be a habit you’re unable to break.”

  She smiled. “Unlikely, but I do have enough intelligence to realize when I’m wrong.”

  “Come here, Jules.” He patted the bed. “Lay down beside me and rest. In the morning we begin our trip again.”

  His soon to be duchess didn’t argue. She picked up the tray and set it back on the chair, then crawled beside him on the bed. He pulled her into his arms and she nestled against him. Her head rested on his chest, and she fell fast asleep. For a moment, everything seemed right in the world, and Grayson started to believe happy endings were possible.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Their trip to Scotland had started all right, was side-lined slightly by a broken wheel, and then resumed without much ado. They’d been back on the road for several days with non-stop travel. Each day had blended into the next. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other started. Perhaps Grayson should have kept better track, and if he’d have to guess it had been over four days inside the coach with Juliette, but honestly it had stopped mattering to him. The end result would still culminate to one thing—them standing together reciting marriage vows.

  They didn’t stop at an inn overnight again, but they did take small breaks. The horses were changed on a regular basis, and they stretched their legs, or took care of other needs during the process. After the delay with the wheel Grayson hadn’t wanted to stop unless it was essential. Something niggled at the bottom of his stomach. He fully believed if they dallied too much they’d not make it to Gretna Green in time.

  Juliette believed her father didn’t have any idea where she may have gone, and he might not. He didn’t want to take any needless chances. She was going to be his wife. Once he made up his mind there was no turning back. That ridiculousness of a name only marriage wasn’t happening either. He’d inform her of that when it mattered—on their wedding night.

  “I’ve never been so tired of staring at the inside of a carriage in my life,” Juliet complained. “Surely we must be close to Scotland by now.”

  He didn’t blame her one bit. The journey to Scotland’s border was long and tedious, and cold as hell in the middle of the winter months. The further they traveled inland the more frigid it seemed to get too. “It won’t be long. We should arrive at Gretna Green by nightfall.”

  “This isn’t how I imagined Christmastide to be,” she said quietly. “Not that I’ve had an enjoyable one in a long time.”

  The last carefree Christmastide he’d experienced was his final one with her. Sure he’d had fun and gave a good resemblance of reveling in the festivities, but his heart hadn’t been in it. None of it had ever compared t
o his childhood—back when he’d been too young for his father to take notice of them. Sometimes he longed for that ignorance. It had been a much simpler time.

  “When was the last time Christmastide was worth remembering for you?” He wondered if it was the same time as his. Probably not, but if so they’d have that in common. Although Grayson hoped it wasn’t true. He’d wanted her to go on and have many happy times without him.

  “The last one that was perfect was with you,” she said. “I did have good ones after that. They weren’t the same without you, but my mother did her best to make everything around her bright. She was a good woman.”

  “You miss her.” It was a statement more than a question. Of course she’d miss her mother. The countess had been a wonderful woman. It was more than making things bright as Juliette had put it. She was kind and generous to all around her. “She wouldn’t want you to be forlorn. I know it’s hard, but try to remember the times you were happiest.”

  She remained quiet and pensive. “Her death was sudden and I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. One day we were planning which balls to attend, and the next she breathed no more.” Juliette fidgeted in the seat next to him. “I’m not sure what happened. We were in the sitting room, her face turned red, and she started to rub her arm. Soon after that, she collapsed.”

  “It had to be difficult to watch,” he said quietly. He wasn’t entirely sure how his father died and hadn’t cared to ask. His mother had barely managed to reach him in time to inform him of his father’s death—not that it had mattered much in the end. Grayson had been summoned to return and attend the farce of a funeral his mother arranged at Kissinger Castle. The man who’d sired him hadn’t respected him, and therefore Grayson hadn’t seen any reason to attend the ceremony honoring his life. His mother still held that against him. She’d called him an ungrateful wretch, and he couldn’t argue with her on that assessment. At the very least he was a wretch, and hadn’t given a damn. He’d not mourned his father, and sure as hell didn’t miss the rotten bastard.