Mastered Under the Mistletoe Read online

  “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!”
r />   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 th
e 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.”