Page 52 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
“Georgie…” Dex cupped her cheek, secured her gaze on his. He had the bookish, serious expression on his face that twisted her heart into a devoted knot. “You know you’re my world, don’t you? That I’m profoundly grateful we found each other again. That I love you more than anything, will love this baby more than anything.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, smiling as his pupils did the crafty enlargement that meant his designs were getting devious, and her clothes might soon come off. “More than fossils?”
He captured her mouth, the molten kiss dissolving the world around them. “More than, duchess of mine. Can you believe it?”
The most significant change in her life?
Shedidbelieve it.
She believed in love.
THE END
Thank you for reading THE ICE DUCHESS!
This was the prequel toTheDuchess Societyseries. Are you eager to read Hildy’s story? Her story will be told in the first installment, THE BRAZEN BLUESTOCKING. You can get your copy here or read until the very end for a sneak peek!
A brazen matchmaker falls for the handsome rogue she's charming into being a perfect gentleman...
CHAPTER ONE
Outer Banks, NC
December 1899
Christmas was a splendid time to be in love.
And the worst time to beoutof it.
This was Caleb Garrett’s verdict as he shouldered past a couple leaving Scoggins’s Mercantile, their gazes locked on each other as they shared thelook. If he judged by nothingbuthis brothers’ ridiculously happy marriages, the way they communicated without saying a word and how conflicted, how lonely, it made him feel lately to witness it, he would have to say his verdict was lacking in holiday cheer, but was, nonetheless, accurate.
He passed Christabel’s restaurant without pausing to stop for coffee, conversation. Or more, in the back bedroom he’d once considered his own.
Because times and people changed.
An agreed-upon, handled-like-adults change.
The tinny sound of a piano skated past on a salt-laden gust bitter enough to make his skin sting, the lively tune perfect for the season. Tightening the soiled length of linen circling his bicep, he grimaced as a painful jolt shot down his arm. Carolers had strolled past his warehouse every evening this week, until he’d been forced to barricade himself in his workshop with his phonograph—a birthday gift from his brother, Noah, that he unabashedly and quite surprisingly loved. While the group sang with boundless glee outside and Joplin let it loose inside, Caleb had used his incarceration to finish the Chesapeake sharpie design for a New England boatbuilder. A brilliant little skiff that would scoot right over the waves without a tremor if things went as planned.
So, he guessed he’d give the carolers some credit.
Although he still thought love and Christmas did not go together. Or didn’thaveto, as everyone seemed to think they should.
Halting before a house the color of a dirty sock, he noted the cracked foundation, ballast stone at its best fifty years ago; a tattered cypress shake roof that had to be leaking. Drab, but holding a lovely spot right on the bay, where the smell of the marsh was deep and pungent, an eternal balm to his soul. He gave the stained cloth circling his arm another tug. No repairs done on this place because there was no man to do them. And according to rumor, no money to hire one. Caleb stubbed the heel of his boot across the warped porch step before he stepped on it, watched a seagull sail past and questioned if he could forgo this visit. Handle this crisis on his own with a poultice and some of that miracle salve Elle had given him that might be dried up because he’d left the top off.
Because…Macy Dallas,for the love of God.
From beneath his makeshift bandage, a crimson bead trickled down his arm and over his wrist. A drop the exact color of the holly hanging on every one of his sister-in-law Savannah’s new gas streetlamps hitting the faded porch board as if to say:no, indeed, stitches are required.
He had a choice: the lady doctor or one of his brothers. His inquisitive, concerned, protective, interfering brothers. Although the thought ofhergave his belly an unwelcome twist. Engaged his cock, too, if he were being honest.
How weak is man, he concluded and sent the sign hanging next to the door—Elinor Macy Dallas, Medical Doctor—into a wild swing. The disparity brought an unwelcome smile to his face. The house was decaying, but the sign brand spanking new, as was the doctor. The nervous belly-twist when he got near Miss Dallas, not so much.
He’d been dealing with that for a while now.
Counting to five, he blew out a fierce breath and knocked. Cockdefinitelyengaged by the mere thought of her, which irritated him for no good reason.
The second knock was not gentle.