Never Desire a Duke

Claxton’s voice trailed away at finding only the deep groove of the sledge’s blades in the snow to greet him. Not just that, but his cakes lay scattered in the snow beside his upended basket. Bells jangled in the distance.

A glance down the hill revealed the horse and sledge with Sophia expertly poised on the blades, reins in hand, her dark hair streaming out behind her.

Laughter welled up from inside his chest. “You little minx!”

Of course he hadn’t found her mittens. She’d tricked him. All along, his spirited young wife had been playing the game just as hard as he. Of course she had.

But the game wasn’t over yet. Grinning, he grabbed the basket and tossed his frozen cakes inside.

* * *

A flicker of movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Claxton raced in the opposite direction of the road, churning across the paddock, snow flying up in his wake. Amazingly, it appeared he carried the discarded basket of cakes. Curse his long legs and boots.

He proceeded past the place where they had crossed the frozen riverbed the day before. From a distance, voices shouted and laughed. On the hilltop that overlooked the village, children played. Several boys threw snowballs while another group raised a small army of snowmen. Still others streaked on sleds or barrel lids down the snow-covered hill.

“No,” she wailed, realizing his intent. Snapping the reins, she urged the horse to resume its forward motion. With a shrill whinny, the animal plowed forward, high stepping through the snow, yanking the sledge free.

But it was too late. Claxton commandeered a sled and barreled down the hill, his coattails rippling on the wind. Sophia urged the horse onward, down the public road and through the village, where at last she slid to a stop in front of the Kettles’ cottage.

The basket had tipped during travel, and several cakes had rolled across the floor of the sledge. Retrieving them, she blew them off and hastily returned them to the basket.

Claxton was nowhere to be seen, but a downward glance revealed fresh boot prints on the steps. Her spirits sank. Mr. Kettle opened the door and conducted her into the parlor.

“I’ll see what’s keeping Mrs. Kettle,” he said, disappearing into another room.

Claxton turned from the fire, where he stood warming his hands. A mirthful smile broke across his face. “Oh, Sophia.” He chuckled, his eyes lit with humor and admiration. “How delightful. I’d never have expected it of you.”

She stormed across the carpet. “You deserve being left for sabotaging my cakes.”

“I told you there were no rules.” He met her halfway, his wicked smile all the confession she required.

“You tried to get me foxed.”

He moved closer still. “I told you I played hard. That I would do anything to win.”

“You kissed me.”

He growled low in his throat. “I did more than that.”

She held on tight to the cakes for fear he would snatch them from her hands.

“I might eventually be convinced to apologize for it all.” He bent and seized her and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Except for the kissing and touching you. Never that.”

Footsteps sounded on the threshold. He released her and with a wink stepped back.

“I am told we have cakes,” said Mrs. Kettle.

“Yes, here,” said Sophia dazedly. Claxton threw her a smile of pure sin.

“May I see them, then?”

Sophia handed them to the older woman. Claxton did the same, retrieving his basket from near the fire.

“Dear, take her ladyship’s redingote. It’s become overly warm in this small room.”

Mr. Kettle assisted her in removing the garment. Unlike Mrs. Kettle, Sophia didn’t feel overly warm. Indeed, without her coat, she suffered a distinct chill. She crossed her arms over her chest and sidled a few inches closer to the fire.

The elderly woman examined the cakes. “Oh, my. The hearts are falling to pieces, and the medallions appear to be crusted with snow.”

Claxton glanced to Sophia, then back to Mrs. Kettle. “Perhaps taste will distinguish one from the other.”

Mrs. Kettle did not appear convinced. “Perhaps.”

She tasted Sophia’s offering first. “The texture is a bit disappointing. Very hard and dense.” With a shrug, she popped a pinch of Claxton’s into her mouth. She blinked, coughed, and swallowed. “Salt. Far too much salt. Mr. Kettle, where did I set my cup of tea?”

“Salt?” exclaimed Claxton. “No, that can’t be, I followed the measurements precisely—”

His gaze shot to Sophia. “You.”

“Shenanigans!” declared Mrs. Kettle. “No surprise there. I do believe we must declare this particular effort a tie.”

“No matter.” Sophia glanced at Claxton and back to Mrs. Kettle. Her arms dropped to her sides. “I believe we have decided to work together to complete the subsequent quests.”

Mrs. Kettle looked up with a smile. Her gaze, however, veered in another direction. Downward to the front of Sophia’s dress.

“Yes, your Grace, I can see that you have,” she replied tartly. She burst out with a delighted laugh.

Looking down, Sophia saw the reason for Mrs. Kettle’s mirth. Each of her breasts bore a white, powdery imprint in the distinct shape of Claxton’s hand.

* * *

Vane could not help but delight in Sophia’s mortification, which he found no less than adorable. She had hardly been able to enunciate the words good night to the Kettles, let alone walk a straight line from the cottage to the sledge without his arm for assistance. Even so, they had completed the second quest to Mrs. Kettle’s satisfaction and were in possession of the third, which they had decided to open upon their return to Camellia House.

Though the sky already dimmed into a lavender twilight, once arriving at the top of the hill, on impulse Claxton drove out to where several village boys still sledded and urged Sophia to disembark the sledge.

“Wait here,” he said.

“Where are you going?” she asked, frowning.

He left her there without further answer. Returning the sledge to the bottom of the hill, he secured the horse and climbed the incline. From the edge she peered over, watching him make the ascent. Perhaps he was wrong, but he believed he saw a begrudging admiration in her eyes, an appreciation of his physical strength and his capability. Like a fool green boy, he very much liked the feeling of impressing her.

Still, to say she was happy would be a vast misstatement. Something was wrong, and he could not help but feel that that something had nothing to do with the handprints he’d left on her breasts and everything to do with their marriage. He didn’t know what to do. He knew only he’d had the most wonderful time with her today. Still, he knew the existence of that damn list hovered over them like a dark cloud. He’d do anything to make her forget.

“I’m weary and cold, Claxton. I don’t want to wait here while you sled with the boys.”

“I’m not going to sled with the boys.” He laughed. “I’m going to sled with you.”

“Me?” The stolid expression dropped from Sophia’s face. Her green eyes sparked with interest.

“I thought you might like to try.”

Sophia did want to try. He could tell by the way she peered down the slope and the small smile teasing the corner of her pretty mouth.

“What if I fall off? What if I go tumbling and my skirts fly up in front of those young boys and I humiliate myself worse than I already have today?” She closed her eyes. “Oh, Claxton. What must the Kettles think of me?”

He chuckled, pleased that she cared. Taking a chance, he slipped his gloved hand into hers and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “They think you’re delightful.”

“I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”

Her eyes fixed on his lips. He kissed her and then she met his gaze. She let out a shaky breath and bit her lower lip. Her cheeks pinked, and he knew she was remembering, as was he, their passionate—yet unfinished—