Page 36 of The Dare Before Christmas

Hester stared at him, utterly speechless for once. Had he just proposed to her? The foolish man

“What is wrong with you?” she cried, uncertain if she was furious with him or if she was about to weep. She didn’t know anything anymore.

This dreadful, overbearing man had left her to marry a more suitable choice. From everything she had heard, he had become increasingly dreadful and overbearing with each year that had passed, and she had told herself she’d had a lucky escape. She had been happily married, and though she had always regretted that they’d never been blessed with children, it had been her only regret. And yes, perhaps in the years since her husband had been gone she had remembered her youth, remembered the beautiful, arrogant duke who had stolen her breath and made her feel so dreadfully alive. Oh, they had fought like cat and dog, but they had loved too, just as fiercely. Things had been different then, society not so buttoned up as it was now, the blasted hypocrites.

“You’re the only thing that has ever been wrong with me, Hester,” Axton said, his voice soft now. “If I’d known what I was giving up, if I’d had the slightest idea of the lonely years stretching before me without you, I’d never have let you go. Not for a moment, not for anything.”

Hester turned away from him, unable to withstand the look in his eyes, or the sincerity blazing there. She had known his marriage had been a disaster. He and his wife had loathed each other, but… she had never realised, never considered, that he might have loved her all this time.

“We’re supposed to be looking for Barnaby and Lady Victoria,” she said weakly.

Axton turned her back to face him, his big hand cupping her face, and oh lord, it was so good to feel a man’s touch after so many years alone. No. Not a man’s touch. His touch.

“Axton,” she protested, but it was half-hearted now.

“They’re young, they can look after their own hearts. Let us think of our own. Let me begin to make amends for fifty years of idiocy and bad decisions. I have a great deal of making up to do, and there is no time to lose,” he said, and there was amusement shining in his eyes, but that sincerity was still there too.

He meant it. For once in his life, the big lummox was being entirely honest and hiding nothing. He was putting his heart on the line and, if she chose, she could crush it. She could have her revenge for the humiliation and pain he had caused her so long ago… but, in the end, he had suffered for his decision, and she had not. At least, not for years and decades as he had, and she did not want to hurt him. This man was not the one she had known. Oh, he was still there, the charming rogue, the arrogant duke, but time had tempered those hard edges, experience had softened him, and perhaps he really had learned what love meant, after all this time.

“Give me a chance, Hester.”

“Another chance,” she said tartly.

His lips quirked. “A second chance.”

“Why should I?” She stared at him, not quite ready to give.

“Because I love you, and I think, odiously conceited fellow that I am, that you do not hate me quite as much as you make out.”

“Pfft,” she said, but she did not object when he put his hands on her hips, drawing her a little closer. Heat, the warming thrill of desire, familiar yet so long forgotten, flared from the place he held her, his hands burning through the fabric of her gown.

“Stubborn female,” he said, shaking his head. “Admit it. You adore me.”

“I certainly do not,” she retorted, but she still said nothing as he gently drew her nearer, instead laying her hands flat on his chest. His heartbeat thrummed, strong and a tad too fast beneath her palm.

“Little liar,” he murmured in her ear.

Hester shivered, her breath catching as his lips pressed against her cheek.

“You adore me,” he repeated.

“Oh, all right, you great, numbskull. I adore you! There,” she said crossly. “What are you going to do about it?”

He gave her a look of such ducal indignation she could only laugh. “Why I shall make you my duchess, obviously. What else should I do?”

“You might ask me, I suppose,” she retorted.

Axton, devil that he was, waved this away. “I’m a duke. Asking is for plebs.”

“Oh, you—” she began, but the words died as he pulled her close and kissed her, and Hester sighed, giving in, because Alfie had always kissed like it was the end of the world and she was the last thing he ever wanted to see.

Besides which, she did adore him, and she could scold him to her heart’s content once she was his duchess. So Hester did what any sensible woman would do, and held on tight.

Chapter 11

Madam,

I hope that you and your husband, the earl are in good health and spirits.