Her Christmas Pleasure (3 page)

“Because I’m leaving at the first of the year.”

Celia pushed at Damien’s shoulders with all her might, her face screwed up in what could only be anger. Her pretty lips were twisted in a grimace he found positively adorable even though he knew she was none too pleased with his abrupt revelation. “Leaving? Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m leaving England, Celia.”
I’m leaving you.

He couldn’t admit the truth. That she was part of the reason for his departure. Confessing would cause her to ask more questions he couldn’t answer. And perhaps she’d try to convince him to stay.

He couldn’t stay. Couldn’t stand by and watch as she eventually found someone else and married him. He would be a proper gentleman with a fine title and a good family, one with a strong and guiding influence to help raise young Theo into a proper earl.

Her phantom future husband could give her everything Damien could not.

“Why, Damien?” She shook her head once. “You cannot just…leave.”

“I can. I am.”
I must.

“Have you told anyone of this…most important news?”

“Only Urswick knows. He aided in finding my new employment in France. But I wanted you to hear the news from me first and no other.” It was the least he could do.

“Why? So you could witness the shattering of my heart personally?” She turned her head, blinking furiously.

Something ripped inside him. Emotions tore at his ragged, heavy heart and filled him with despair that he could hurt her so much she cried.

And she was most definitely crying. A single tear dropped from her thick, soot-colored lashes, and he watched in bleak fascination as it wound a glistening path down her cheek. Reaching out, he dabbed it with his thumb and absorbed the droplet into his skin. Lingering, learning the texture of her, he brushed his thumb against her silken cheek before withdrawing.

“The earl assisted you, and neither of you thought of telling me?”

The agony in her voice was killing him. “I never believed anything would come of it. Only recently did I obtain the position.”

Turning to look at him with liquid-filled eyes, she curled her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and slowly tugged him toward her. “Oh, Damien.”

The sound of his name whispered in her sweet, seductive voice was his complete undoing.

He kissed her. Not because he wanted to ease her pain and stop her tears, but because he was selfish and wanted to taste her one more time before he left England. She wound her slender arms around his neck and sank her hands into his hair as her lips parted beneath his. He groaned at her touch, at the easy way she opened for him, trusted him with this.

With her.

Deepening the kiss, he swept his tongue into the warm interior of her mouth, tasted the lingering brandy, a hint of chocolate, a dash of her uniquely feminine essence. He stepped closer as his tongue probed deeper, brushing his erection against her skirts once, twice, until his hips ground against hers, and she gasped.

He was a heathen, a brute who could think of nothing but the willing woman in
his arms. How her fingers gripped his hair, her plump breasts crushed against his chest. A low whimper escaped her, went straight to his stiff cock, and he broke the kiss. He pressed his cheek to hers so they could catch their breath.

“Celia. Celia, where are you?” a voice from downstairs said.

She stiffened in his arms. “It’s the countess. She’s looking for me.”

Her voice squeaked, and her obvious statement made him smile despite the grave turn of circumstance. He couldn’t allow the countess to discover Celia in his arms, not like this. He was a guest in their home. Surely she would think him an absolute bounder for taking advantage of a lonely widow.

He rested his index finger upon her mouth, savoring the sensation of her lips parting slowly, the soft gust of her breath. “I’ll sneak away.” The countess’s heavy footsteps climbing the stairs drew closer. “Tell her I retired for the evening. She’ll never be the wiser.”

“But…” Her gaze went frantic, and her body swayed toward his.

He breathed deep as he let his hand fall away from her mouth, knowing it was the last time he could touch her in such an intimate manner. “I must go, Celia.” His words were both a harsh command and held double meaning.

She flinched and watched as he left her sagging against the wall, a rumpled, delicious mess with swollen lips and tousled hair. She looked as if she’d been completely ravished.

Which she had.

Damien didn’t look over his shoulder, not once. He couldn’t. To do so would destroy him.

He slipped inside the guest bedchamber and shut the door with a quiet click. Leaning against it, he exhaled loudly, thumping the back of his head so hard against the solid wood he winced.

It didn’t help. Didn’t knock any sense into his head whatsoever, not that he believed it would. He was helplessly, irrevocably in love with the widowed Lady Danver.

He was a damned fool.

“My dear, you look as if you’ve had a dreadful fright. Is there something the matter?” The Countess of Urswick glanced around the darkened hall with a sharp eye and a quick turn of her head. “Where’s Damien? Did he not accompany you to say good night to Theodore?”

Celia’s knees weakened at the mere mention of his name. She wished she still leaned against the wall. She’d at least have something to support her when she fell.

Too late. Indeed, she’d already fallen.

For Damien. And yet he was leaving her. He was moving to France—when would she ever be able to visit him?

Would he want her to visit? Surely not.

“He…he informed me to offer you his apologies, but he was too weary to go on celebrating. He retired for the evening.” Her voice was shaky and the countess studied her carefully. No doubt because she sounded and looked a complete wreck. Anyone with eyes and ears could tell.

“You sound weary as well.” Reaching out, the countess patted Celia’s arm.

“Perhaps you should get some much needed rest. I know Theo has run you ragged.”

Celia nodded, grateful for the reprieve. “That sounds like a splendid idea. I am
rather tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has been.” The countess smiled and drew Celia into a quick embrace.

“Good night, dearest. Sleep well.”

“Thank you. You too.” She wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight. Her mind was awhirl over Damien’s kiss.

And not even an hour later her thoughts were still filled with him. His strong arms clasping her close to his firm body, his mouth so soft and wet. How his tongue had licked, searched and circled about hers as he delved inside her mouth. Bringing forth such wondrous feelings she believed long dormant, possibly nonexistent.

Only a few stolen moments in Damien’s arms, and she’d been more alive than she had the last two years—three, if she counted the time Lawrence had been gone at war, leaving her a lonely wife with a toddling babe to look after.

She lay in bed in her darkened bedchamber, only the flickering light from the fireplace illuminating the space. Shadows danced upon the walls, darkness and light, fanciful and mysterious.

Much like her thoughts. The mysteries of attraction never ceased to astound her. She’d never believed Damien viewed her as anything but a friend. Not until last autumn, when she’d discovered him watching her. It had given her a bit of hope to cling to. Their time together had become heightened, fraught with a sort of tension she couldn’t deny.

But he never said a word, never indicated beyond the occasional secretive glance that he might have feelings toward her.

Celia sighed. There was much to admire about Damien. He was kind and thoughtful, handsome and giving. And so loyal—he never had an ill word for anyone. Not even his servant father and long-dead mother. He spoke with respect and worked hard. Her father-in-law trusted him implicitly with the handling of his estate.

She remembered again how he’d looked at her with such…hunger glowing in his eyes before he kissed her beneath the mistletoe. The first touch of his lips upon hers and then later, when he held her against the wall as if she weighed nothing…

Lawrence had never attempted such a thing. He’d always been gentle, sweet and careful in the bedroom.

Perhaps Damien could be gentle and sweet. And passionate and possessive and the slightest bit rough…and she’d like it. Love it, even.

A shiver moved through her. She rolled over on her side, squeezing her thighs together. It didn’t ease the ache that continued to throb between her legs. Restlessness had consumed her and made her long for something she couldn’t have. It was almost too much to bear.

She’d held the tiniest hope Damien would sneak in like a thief under cloak of darkness into her bedchamber. Slip beneath the heavy coverlet and draw her close. Touch her everywhere, kiss her, undress her, fill her with his body so they would become one.

Celia punched her pillow with a furious thump. It was hopeless. He wasn’t going to come inside her room and declare his intentions. He wouldn’t dare ravage her until she couldn’t stand.

Yet she wanted him to. Desperately.

And she would make it so. No matter what it took.

Damien entered the small library he and the earl preferred to meet in and found Theo sitting on the edge of a gold velvet tufted settee, his little legs swinging to and fro as he held a large book in his lap. It was an unusual sight, to discover the boy alone, for he was normally accompanied by his nanny or the countess or Celia.

Celia. Just thinking of her made his heart ache.

Clearing his throat, he headed toward the settee. Theo glanced up, his solemn face breaking into a smile at Damien’s approach.

“Whatever are you doing here by yourself, Theo?” Damien sat beside him.

Theo shrugged and resumed his perusal of the book. “Trying to read.”

Damien glanced over Theo’s shoulder and saw the book was most definitely not for a child. A piece of sophisticated literature on the writings of Socrates certainly wasn’t what he read when he was a boy. “Your choice is rather ambitious.”

“Grandpapa wants me to have a fine education.” Theo mimicked the words Damien had heard uttered by Urswick more than once. “I wanted to show him I could read.”

“And where, may I ask, is your nanny?”

“I snuck away. She fell asleep in her chair in the nursery, so I left.” Theo wrinkled his nose. “I hate the nursery. I’m a big boy, not a baby.”

Damien chuckled and gently took the book out of Theo’s grip, setting it beside him on the settee. “There must be a book from your grandfather’s vast collection that’s easier for you to read. You mustn’t stress yourself so. You’re only five, after all.”

“But I’m to be the earl someday. And I must be very smart.”

Such enormous responsibility on one so young. Damien ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. “You are very smart, Theo. And someday you’ll make a fine earl.”

“Did you read books like this when you were five, Uncle Damien?” Theo’s imploring gaze met his.

“I’m afraid not. I enjoyed reading simpler books with pictures in them. Have you had many lessons?”

“Some. Mama helps me to read. She’s a good teacher. She’s pretty too. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

Celia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. “She’s definitely pretty.”

“And she’s nice. She smells good too. I like the way she hugs me.”

She smelled delicious and tasted even better. Damien had fallen asleep last night reliving their illicit kiss in the hall and awoken doing the same. He hadn’t seen her all morning, much to his disappointment, though it was probably best. What would he say to her? “Is she a good hugger?”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure she would hug you if you asked.” Theo leaned toward him. “Do you want to hug my mama, Uncle Damien?”

He wanted to do much more than hug Celia.

Realization dawned. Was Theo trying to convince him that he and Celia belonged together? “I care for your mama very much,” he said carefully, not wanting to upset the boy. He wasn’t sure exactly what Theo wanted to hear.

“Do you love her? You could marry her, you know. Then you would become my papa!” Theo bounced with excitement.

“I could never replace your papa, Theo. You know he was a good friend of mine.
My best friend.”

Theo frowned. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a papa. I didn’t know him. I’d like you to be my father.”

The confession broke Damien’s heart. How could he leave this boy and his mother? He’d believed himself unworthy for so long, yet he’d ingratiated himself so fully into their lives they counted on him.

He was leaving for France in mere days to embark on a new life. Abandoning Theo and Celia much like Lawrence had done, only worse. Lawrence hadn’t meant to die.

But Damien was purposely leaving them.

“I’ll always be your Uncle Damien…”

Theo shook his head. “I want you to live with me and Mama. I want to be like other boys. I want a mama and a papa. Don’t you want to marry my mama? You said she was pretty.”

“Your mother is beautiful.” Damien sighed. “But it’s not that easy, Theo.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t know how to explain. And really, why not? He didn’t have an answer. His past reasoning why he could never pursue Celia was far too complex to explain to her young son. Not that he would ever do so.

“It’s my greatest Christmas wish to have a father.” Theo’s voice shook, and he sniffed.

Lord help him, the boy was crying. Damien gathered Theo into his arms and held him close, his tears dampening Damien’s waistcoat as he cried. Theo’s despair devastated him, and he smoothed his hand over the boy’s tousled hair, keeping a stiff upper lip.

He couldn’t leave them, yet he’d made a promise to his new employer. The earl was already on the hunt for his replacement. He would disappoint so many no matter what he chose to do.

Damien’s heart stopped when he looked up and saw Celia standing in the doorway of the library, a haunted expression on her face. She appeared weary and distressed, and her eyes widened when they met his.

He needed her. Theo needed her. He couldn’t handle Theo’s pleading requests alone.

As if she read his mind, she swept into the room, her voice soft as she called her son’s name.

Theo disengaged himself from Damien’s arms and ran toward his mother, throwing his body so hard against her skirts, she stepped backward as she caught him.

“Is something the matter?” She cuddled him close, whispering soothing words in his ear, and Damien watched them wistfully. She was a fine mother, and she had raised a fine boy. If given the chance, she would most likely be happy with scads of children tugging on her skirts.

Wistfulness washed over him. He wished he could be the one to give her what she deserved. But he hadn’t the means to provide her with a grand house so she could fill it with children. He had nothing. Just the pittance he’d saved over the years and his small home in a dreary part of London.

He wished he could give her more. But he wasn’t enough.

Glancing in Celia’s direction once more, he caught her watching him, an equally wistful expression on her face. She tore her gaze from his, her cheeks coloring a becoming pink. She smiled at something Theo said.

The sight of that smile and those pretty pink cheeks cracked open Damien’s heart and gave him hope. Perhaps he
could
give her what she wanted. Perhaps he could be enough.

But he needed to find the courage to ask her.

Celia stood far from the singing crowd purposely, not wanting to be too close to the pianoforte. The earl’s brother enjoyed playing, but no one was brave enough to tell him he wasn’t very good. They chose instead to entertain him, singing traditional Christmas carols so loudly it drowned out the horrendously off-key notes as he played with abandon.

All the merrymaking made her headache worse, unfortunately. She clutched her glass of fragrant wassail, the spicy scent soothing her frayed nerves. Theo was too busy singing and clapping to worry about his mama, which was fine. She’d much rather not deal with his busy hands tugging on her arm and his endless chattering.

She adored her son, but she was so weary. How she wished she were in her bedchamber, snug under the coverlet, letting sleep take her and ease her broken spirit. Perhaps she’d dream of Damien again.

“Do you have a headache?”

He always seemed to know what to say, when to appear. And he had the uncanny ability of knowing what was troubling her when she didn’t feel well.

Glancing at him from over her shoulder, she nodded. “The music only makes it worse.”

Damien moved so he stood next to her. “Perhaps we shouldn’t indulge him.”

The disgust in his voice almost made her laugh. “But he so enjoys playing.”

“He so enjoys torturing us all, more like.”

She gave in to the urge and stifled the laugh as best she could by pressing her fingers to her mouth. “They sing loudly to drown out his awful playing.”

They both chuckled, and the unease that had brewed between them earlier in the day evaporated. After last night’s turn of events, she’d been nervous to face him. And he’d appeared apprehensive as well. When she’d run into him in the library with Theo he’d barely spoken a word. And later, when they’d all gone down to the pond for an afternoon of ice-skating in the brisk, clear winter air, the few words he’d spoken to her had been perfunctory at best.

Yet there had been that moment when she’d almost slipped on the ice and out of nowhere he’d caught her. His big hands had wrapped around her waist to steady her and for a brief, glorious moment he’d pressed his body against hers, asking if she was hurt. He’d wrapped himself completely around her. It had been wonderful…

Her cheeks heated at the memory.

“Your face is flushed. Are you not feeling well?” The concern lacing his deep voice made her stomach flutter.

“I’m fine.” She waved her hand, but he stepped closer and, heaven help her, touched her arm. His fingers burned through the muslin of her sleeve, nearly searing her skin. “I’m tired, is all.”

“And your head hurts,” he added softly, his hand dropping away from her. Keen disappointment filled her at the loss.

“Yes. It hurts.”

They stared at each other. The music faded away, as did the laughter and the crackle and pop of disintegrating logs that burned in the hearth. It was as if only she and Damien were in the room. Her breath stuttered in her throat when his gaze dropped to her mouth. Was he contemplating kissing her again?

She certainly wouldn’t refuse him.

“You should get some rest. It’s been a busy day.”

His words broke her from her reverie. She shook her head. “Oh, not yet. Theo would be disappointed.”

“Theo wouldn’t realize you’ve left.”

She knew he spoke the truth but his words still hurt. Was he trying to be rid of her? Had she misinterpreted everything that happened between them?

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.” He paused. “I want to take care of you.”

Those last words he spoke tore at her emotions, leaving her vulnerable. Did he mean what he said? “Why?” The word rasped from her dry throat, and she brought her forgotten cup to her lips, drinking the wassail until it was gone.

“Because I care for you, Celia. As a—”

“As a friend? Is that what you wanted to say?” She set the cup on a nearby table and glared at him. The unease was back, flaring between them like a snapping, angry fire.

“I—” The light in his eyes dimmed and his cheeks turned ruddy. He appeared completely flummoxed. His mouth snapped shut.

“Please. Don’t say another word. I believe I understand.”

“Celia, I don’t think you do.”

She raised her hand to silence him. “We are
friends.
What happened last night meant nothing. You’re leaving for France, and I’ll never see you again. Is that what you wished to tell me?”

“Is that what you wish to hear?”

His voice was so low she barely heard him. “What did you say?”

“Mama, Mama.”

Celia turned to find Theo running toward her with a grin on his face. “Yes, darling?”

“May I have some pudding, Mama? Please?”

“Of course you can.” She patted his head with a shaky hand and swallowed hard before she turned to face Damien once more.

But he was gone. As if he’d never been there. She craned her head, searching the room for him.

Disappointment mixed with a healthy dose of anger filled her. She went to Theo’s nanny and requested she put him to bed. Without speaking to anyone else she fled the room, tears threatening to spill as she ran up the stairs to her bedchamber.

The man infuriated her. He acted as if he desired her one moment, then pleaded they were just friends the next. She wished he would leave for France at this very moment so she wouldn’t have to look at him ever again.

Liar.

Sniffing, she strode into her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her so hard
it rattled the walls. Would she go through the rest of her days yearning for a man she couldn’t have? Wanting a man who didn’t want her?

A timid knock sounded on the door. Celia offered a curt “Enter.” It was her maid, ready to help her dress for bed. Poor Jean tiptoed into the room, probably fearful, by the way Celia had shut her door with such force.

They went about their evening routine much like every other night though Celia’s head still spun over her earlier conversation with Damien. Worry consumed her. He hadn’t been the one who called her just a friend—she was the one who put words into his mouth.

Had she jumped to conclusions? Had she acted too rashly and lashed out because of her headache and worry over what was happening between them? At the possibility of losing him?

Oh, just the thought tore at her soul and made her want to weep.

Celia sat at the vanity while Jean brushed and braided her hair. She’d already shed her gown in exchange for her warmest linen nightgown. She wanted to go to him. He deserved an apology for her outburst. But she was preparing for bed, certainly not ready for more agonizing conversations with Damien.

“Jean, could you please fetch my silk robe?”

“Yes, my lady.” Jean tied off the end of Celia’s braid and went to the foot of the bed, where her cream silk robe lay.

Celia stood and took the robe from Jean, slipping it on with a quick efficiency that filled her with resolve. Tying the belt tight about her waist, she turned and smiled weakly at her maid. “You may go, Jean. Thank you.”

Jean nodded and backed toward the door. “Good evening, my lady.”

“Good evening.”

The moment the door shut, Celia went to the vanity and caught her reflection in the mirror. She was completely laid bare. None of the usual trappings and fripperies could improve her tonight. No baubles or fine silk gowns, no corset to emphasize her curves. There would be no flirtation or veiled comments. No putting words in his mouth either.

Tonight she was plain Celia. And she would go to Damien to confess her heart.

Hopefully he wouldn’t turn her away.