Page 101

“Stella, thank God!” Gabriel tossed the reins aside and leapt from the sleigh.

Oh, dear. Now she’d have to explain that she’d climbed out her window and shimmied down his prized Glastonbury thorn! He would think she was mad. “Gabriel, I—”

“Shhh. Not now, love. We need to get you warm.” Without another word he gathered her into his arms as if she were no heavier than a snowflake and carried her back to the sleigh.

“Here we go.” He sat her down in the seat and with a tender affection that made her heart swell, he wrapped his greatcoat around her. “There are hot bricks by your feet, and plenty of blankets.”

“Gabriel, wait. I must ask you something.” She caught his hand. “You’re not the Duke of Hawthorne’s gardener, are you?”

He’d been busily tucking blankets around her, but his hands went still, his gaze meeting hers. “No. I’m Gabriel Ambrose Christopher Scott, the Sixth Duke of Hawthorne.”

“The Sixth Duke of Hawthorne.” Phillippa had been telling the truth, then.

“I should never have lied to you, Stella. It was wrong of me, and I sincerely beg your pardon. Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

“I already have. But why did you lie? Why not tell the truth from the start?”

“It was foolish of me, and I’ve made a mess of it, but I had to be certain …” He looked down, avoiding her gaze. “I want a lady who would love me for myself, rather than one who simply wants to be a duchess.”

“I see.” She laid her hand against his cheek and turned his face back to hers. “And did you find such a lady?”

“I did.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I found the lady I’ve been dreaming of my whole life. I’m in love with you, Stella, and I never wish to be apart from you again. Will you be my duchess, and make me the happiest of men?”

There were a dozen reasons why she should refuse him, a dozen reasons why it could never work. They’d only just met, and he couldn’t make a servant his duchess—

But she wasn’t a servant. She was Lady Estella, the daughter of Lord Featherstone, who’d been an honorable gentleman, and an earl.

She wouldn’t explain it to him now. Not when he was gazing at her with so much love shining in his beautiful green eyes.

There would be time for that later. A lifetime.

“I love you too, Gabriel. I never wish to be parted from you, either.” Her hand found his, and the cold receded as his fingers curled around hers.

“Then I have nothing more to wish for.”

He leaned closer, and everything faded to a soft blur around them as his lips met hers in a soft, slow, devastating kiss.

When he released her again, they were both panting.

“Let’s get you back to the castle and get you warm.” He pressed a final quick kiss to her lips, then took up the reins, the bells ringing in the cold night air as he took them back up the drive.

“You never did get your dance this evening.” He jumped out of the sleigh, then took her hand and led her into the castle. “It’s not too late. Shall we go into the ballroom, announce our betrothal, and claim our celebratory dance?”

It was tempting, but Stella shook her head. She didn’t need the congratulations of people she hardly knew. All she needed was him. “I heard that Hawthorne Castle does the best figgy pudding in Dumfriesshire. I believe I was promised a slice of it.”

“Wonderful idea. Figgy pudding it is.” He took her arm and led her down to the kitchens.

“It smells heavenly in here,” Stella murmured, inhaling the scent of nutmeg and warm brandy.

It smelled like Christmas. Not Christmas as it had been these past two years, but Christmas as it used to be before her father died, like the Christmases she recalled from her childhood, Christmases filled with laughter and warmth and joy.

“Mrs. Hazelton’s famous figgy pudding awaits your judgment, Miss Harley.” Gabriel strode to the long wooden table in the center of the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her. “She bakes a dozen puddings for the church raffle every year. Last year Lady Ellenton and Mrs. Harnish nearly came to blows over the last remaining pudding.”

“Ladies coming to blows, at Christmastime?” She sank into the chair with a grateful sigh. “Surely not.”

Gabriel’s eyes were twinkling. “Annan may appear to be a quiet, sleepy village, but it’s a teeming miasma of scandal and intrigue underneath that serene surface.”

“My goodness, how shocking.” A laugh slipped from Stella’s lips, and she paused, surprised by the sound.