Chapter 1

One

L ucian Abbot, the Marquess of Kistleton, had no desire to travel to the country for Christmastide. These annual family gatherings had become insufferably tedious. If it were only his family in attendance, he might not find them so irksome, but they shared the season with another household—one now tied to his own by marriage. This year marked the first Christmastide house party hosted by his sister, Noelle, and her husband, the Marquess of Daventry.

Lucian liked Daventry well enough—had always liked him, in fact. That did not mean he enjoyed the knowledge that his closest friend had married his sister. The thought of them as a couple made him shudder. Best not to dwell on that unpleasant image. They had been married nearly a year, having fallen in love after being trapped at an inn during a snowstorm last Christmastide. Once the storm had cleared, they had eloped and arrived at the house party with their scandalous news.

Lucian grimaced at the memory as the carriage jolted over a rut in the road. That fateful day had not been his favorite. He had spent most of it arguing with Lady Rosella Prescott over holiday decorations. Their bickering was a near-constant occurrence, and he dreaded the thought of spending yet another Christmastide under the same roof as her.

Rosella was the bane of his existence.

She was also the only woman who had ever captured his heart.

Lucian sighed heavily. He had to find a way to let go of his feelings for Rosella. She loathed him—or at least acted as though she did. Their interactions were filled with sharp words and heated arguments. Her fiery nature, which he so admired, was directed at him with relentless precision. He knew he should stay away from her, but the thought of doing so was a torment all its own.

The carriage turned onto the long, winding drive leading to Daventry Manor. Lucian suspected he was the last guest to arrive. He had intentionally delayed his departure, under the pretense of attending to business, but in truth, he simply had not been eager to face what awaited him. His parents, the Duke and Duchess of Kissinger, and Daventry’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Clare, would already be settled in. Perhaps his uncle, the Viscount of Greenville, would be there too. Lucian hoped so. Greenville, only a few years his senior, had always been a source of mischief and camaraderie. Greenville was his mother’s much younger brother. One day he would be the Earl of Riverdale once his grandfather passed on, but for now his uncle was content to live the life of a rogue.

The carriage came to a halt, and Lucian braced himself. Now he had to go inside and pretend that he was happy. With a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out into the brisk winter air.

“I’ll ensure your trunks are taken inside, my lord,” one of the footman said.

“Thank you, Connors,” Lucian replied before making his way to the front door. He lifted the knocker and rapped it sharply against the heavy wood.

The butler, an elderly man with snowy white hair, opened the door and bowed. “Good day, my lord. Please, come inside.” His tone was solemn as he met Lucian’s gaze.

“You are finally here,” Daventry said, striding into the foyer. “We were beginning to think you had gotten lost.”

Lucian forced a smile onto his face.. “Not at all. Some business matters delayed me, but they are settled now.” He did not want to explain to his friend the real reason he had not arrived sooner.

“You have not missed much,” Daventry assured him. “You know Noelle—she will ensure this house party is…”

“Lively?” Lucian supplied dryly. His friend had seemed unable to find the right word to describe his sister’s scandalous behavior.

“That’s one word for it,” Daventry said with a grin. “Come. Let’s have a drink in my study. The ladies are having tea, our fathers are in the billiards room, and we can seize this moment of quiet.”

Lucian followed Daventry gladly. The study was familiar, a space they had often shared during his visits to the estate. No matter how much Lucian disliked these gatherings, his friendship with Daventry had always been a bright spot.

Daventry poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Lucian. “What business kept you away?” he asked.

“I acquired some additional property,” Lucian replied smoothly. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He had purchased land adjacent to his estate, though the transaction had been finalized weeks earlier.

“You finally convinced the owner to sell it to you.” Daventry whistled. “I had not expected that. You must tell me everything.”

“There is not much to tell,” Lucian said, then shrugged.“The heir needed funds more than he needed the land, and I was fortunate to make the acquisition.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Daventry said with a whistle. “You’ve been after that parcel for years. Well done.”

Lucian nodded, sipping his brandy. The familiar burn eased some of his tension. Still, he couldn’t quite relax. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his assigned chamber and savor a moment of solitude before facing the inevitable chaos of the house party.

Daventry set down his empty snifter. “You must want to rest,” Daventry said, noting Lucian’s empty glass. “Would you like another drink, or would you prefer to retire to your room?”

“I think I’ll rest for a bit,” Lucian said. “We can catch up more after dinner.”

“You are in your usual chamber,” Daventry said with a nod. “I trust you remember the way?”

“I do. Thank you.”

Lucian excused himself and made his way to his room. Once inside, he exhaled a long breath and locked the door behind him. This was his sanctuary, however brief. Soon enough, he would have to face Noelle, their parents, and—worst of all—Rosella. But for now, he had peace. He intended to savor every second of it, even if thoughts of Rosella threatened to invade his solitude. Always, they returned to her. He feared they always would.

Rosella wandered into the library at Daventry Manor, unsure of why she had chosen this particular refuge. She certainly wasn’t seeking a book to read; no story could soothe the restless turmoil within her. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy spending Christmastide with her family—she cherished their annual gatherings. Her disquiet stemmed from something deeper, something she could no longer ignore. It all came down to one man. The Marquess of Kistleton.

Lucian Abbot had held her heart for years, yet he seemed blind to her feelings. He alternated between ignoring her entirely and engaging in arguments that left her flustered and frustrated. There was no middle ground with him, no warmth to give her hope. And yet, her heart remained steadfastly his.

She sighed deeply, her thoughts swirling. Somehow, she needed to let go of this love that consumed her—or make him realize he couldn’t live without her. The latter seemed an impossible dream. How could she force a man to see what he refused to acknowledge? She longed for a life with him, but love could not be commanded. It had to be given freely, and she feared Lucian might never offer her his heart. Somehow, some way she would have to find a way to either end this love she felt for him or make him realize he could not live without her.

This Christmastide felt like her last chance. One final opportunity to show him what they could be together. But how? Their history of bickering had done little to endear her to him. She yearned for him to look at her not with irritation, but with admiration. Love. Yet she had no idea how to capture his attention in a way that mattered. She wanted his love not his apathy.

So how could she gain those things? What could she do to ensure that he could at least start to fall in love with her? She had so much love to give. If only he would see that… She sighed and strolled over to one of the shelves. Rosella trailed her fingers along the spines of books lining the shelves, debating whether to grab one for appearances’ sake. If someone found her here, it would save her from awkward questions.

“This is the last place I would have expected to find you,” a man with a rich deep voice said from behind her.

Her heart jolted, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. Fate had intervened, it seemed. She was not ready for this, but her mother had always told her that moments like this came for a reason. She turned slowly, tilting her lips into what she hoped was a confident smile. “Hello, Lord Kistleton.” She licked her lips, an unintentional reaction to her nerves, and tilted her head, studying him. “You appear well. Your mother will be glad to see that. She fretted over your late arrival.”

In truth, he looked so bloody gorgeous it made her heart ache for the want of him. His dark hair fell in a rakish lock over his brow, and his golden eyes sparkled with a warmth she rarely saw directed at her. Her heart ached with the effort of keeping her composure. How easy it would be to let her feelings overwhelm her, to lose herself in the dream of what could be. It would be to fall under the spell of her love and lose everything to this man.

“Are you saying my mother missed me?” he asked with a raised brow, his tone teasing. “I suppose that could be true.”

“Why would it not be?” Rosella frowned, folding her arms. “Of course, your mother misses you. Do you enjoy provoking me into arguments?”

“Not at all.” He sighed and then brushed his hand over his face. His frustration was coming forth. It was always this way with them. Oh, how she wished she could change it. But damn it all…how? “My apologies,” he said softly. “I fear that I am still disagreeable after traveling all day. Forgive me?”

That caught her off guard. “You have never apologized before.” She would forgive him anything. He was her weakness and she could never stay angry with him. No that he knew that…

“Of course I have,” he said, frowning. “I am not a brute.”

“No, you are not,” she conceded. “But you have never been one to apologize so readily, especially to me. You are usually determined to win every argument. What has changed?”

“Nothing,” he said dismissively, then hesitated. “Perhaps I am simply tired of bickering with you.”

That would be a welcome change. She hoped it was true. The admission had sent a flicker of hope through her. “I would like that,” she said softly. “I do not enjoy our disagreements either.”

He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that sent warmth spreading through her. “Then let this be the year we leave animosity behind. I would rather not spend Christmastide locked in battles of wit.”

“Then we are in agreement.” Rosella kept her gaze locked on his, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. If they could find a way to stop arguing perhaps they could also discover something far deeper, more meaningful with each other. “At least for the duration of the house party, we’ll call a truce.” Could this truly be the beginning of something different? Something better?

“A cessation of hostilities,” he said, his lips twitching with amusement. “Very well. We are in accord.”

Her heart raced, hope blooming within her. She had walked into the library restless and uncertain, but now she had a chance—a truce that might lead to something more. All she had wanted was a chance and now she would have one. If she could show him the depth of her heart, perhaps he would see her in a new light. Perhaps her wish, the one she had whispered to the heavens, would be answered. By the end of Christmastide, she might just win his love.