Letters at Christmas (4 page)

“Now I know you’re lying. I was more like a country maid than a queen.”

“I know what I saw.” He shrugged. “Then I left.”

“You left,” she repeated, still in disbelief.

“Our ship left port in a week. And it had already been a year by then. No letters, no contact at all. You would have been furious to see me.”

Unlikely. Even now, she struggled to hold tightly to her anger. She had some sort of medical condition wherein she thought the best of him and wanted to be near him. Love, or insanity, or both.

“No.” She spoke quietly now, more sure of her answer. “That wasn’t why you didn’t talk to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why then?”

“Because you didn’t want an emotional reunion with a teary goodbye. Maybe you feared you wouldn’t get on the boat again if you saw me. You didn’t want to put anything down on paper because then you’d have to feel something.”

His eyes blazed as he pulled her close to him. “Is that so wrong?”

“No,” she whispered. He was brave and afraid all at once, but wasn’t that love? Wasn’t that life? He’d done what he had to do—for him, for her.

He bent his head and pressed a warm kiss against her lips. His tongue swiped against the seam of her lips until she opened. He invaded her mouth roughly, hungrily. She felt consumed by him. Her sadness fell away, replaced by desire. Her fear faded into the past, and she felt only hope.

His hand cradled her neck, tilting her backward until she reclined half in his lap. He was more forceful than he ever had been, taking her, guiding her.
Submit to me
, his mouth said, and her supple body answered in kind.
Take me, love me.

He touched her breast through her dress, molding the flesh. Her bosom seemed to swell beneath his touch, the tips growing firm between his forefinger and thumb. He pinched gently— then harder. She moaned into his mouth. She felt dizzy with intimacy far greater than physical, and passion deeper than she had ever known before.

She managed to pull back. “Not here.”

“Here,” he countered. “And now. I’ve waited for three years, don’t deny me any longer.”

“I was with you last night,” she protested faintly.

“You know what I want,” he muttered, kissing a line down her jaw and along the edge of her dress. “Marry me.”

The word hovered on the tip of her tongue. Yes. Maybe.
Please.
But she couldn’t even process what he’d told her. My God. So much had happened to him. So much had
hurt
him. Would he resent her? And if he didn’t, she had plenty of guilt welling up. Right now she just wanted to assure herself that he was here, and safe, and alive.

Her fingers tangled in his snow-dusted hair, clenching around ice-cold locks and pulling him closer. Switching their places, he moved her to the seat. He knelt on the floor of the sleigh, his body nestled between her legs. He was so hard everywhere. In his taut muscles and fierce expression. Hard in his heart, she thought faintly.

He’d had to be, to survive. But that had been a shield, constructed of ice, and she would melt it.

With their every touch, heat grew. A fire inside her body raged higher.

He reached for the hem of her skirt. She gasped a small protest, but he quickly covered her with the furs. The tree line protected them from the worst of the wind. The afternoon sun beat heavily upon them, warming her skin. Knowing fingers found the slit in her drawers. Feeling drunk on the pleasure, she lay back on the seat and allowed him to play her. He gazed down at her, kneeling on the floorboard. Pleasure rocked through her, drawing out urgent moans. A flash of need crossed his face. He was desperate for release, but she sensed he wouldn’t take it. He would only give pleasure, not take it. He could only risk his life, his happiness, for a chance at hers.

Keeping her legs spread for him, she tugged off her gloves. In just those few seconds, her fingers became stiff and numb. She persisted, fumbling at the buttons on his pants until she’d opened the placket. Reaching inside, she held him with both hands so as to shield his tender flesh from the cold. But she could do better than that.

She’d given her virginity to him on the night he left, but before that, they had experimented in every other way. In the stables and coatroom at first, and when he grew bold enough, in her bed at night. He knew how to touch her, and she knew how to touch him. She knew how to make him burn.

Holding him steady with one hand, she slipped him into her mouth. His fingers curled inside her. “
Sidony.
”

She used her tongue to caress him, to draw the salty musk of him onto her tongue. He pressed inside her, firmly, roughly, in a race to the finish. She drew on him with her mouth and her hands, one at the base of him and the other slipping inside his smallclothes to caress the flesh beneath. Her moans of desire were muffled, but not his. Every harsh breath or softly spoken swear word mingled with the bells that rocked with their movements, with the huff of restless horses, and the birds who chattered in the trees. Pleasure wound tightly within her, clenching and writhing until she thought she would burst.

He jerked suddenly, and she knew he’d reached his climax. His hand went to the back of her head, cradling her while he spilled warm, salty seed down her throat. She swallowed obediently until a flick of his thumb against a bundle of nerves broke her apart. On a tight cry, she released him and rocked her hips up to his fingers, blinded by a thousand night stars, cradled in his familiar embrace—only tighter now, stronger.

A flush crept up her cheeks as she put her finger to her lips, feeling wetness. She wiped them furtively, but he saw. His smile warmed her, sharing a secret. He bent to lick the corners of her mouth, and then kissed her, a deep, leisurely exploration that left her breathless.

With gentle hands, he straightened her clothes but when she reached for his, he stayed her hands and did it himself. “Just rest.”

“We should hurry.” Her words were slurred, and they exchanged a wry look.

“Indeed. Even Geoffrey will get suspicious at some point.”

She wasn’t sure about that. He never had yet. “Do you think Catherine knows about us?”

“I suspect there isn’t much she doesn’t know.” Hale flashed a quick smile as he resumed his seat. Their ride back was pleasant and uneventful—or maybe it only seemed that way because she was sated and boneless. Luckily, he let her drift in that blissful state as he drove them home.

They pulled up behind an empty sleigh. Laughter from the stables gave away the location of the others. Smoothing her hair, she prepared herself to greet them. After helping her down, Hale went to check on the horses.

Turning away, she hid a private smile and touched her lips again. Performing the act during the day had felt wicked—and all the more exciting. She had always enjoyed risk-taking, and their intimacies were the ultimate form of adventure. Once they married, she could partake of them every day. Because of course they would marry. Her withholding had been born of shock, at first; then pride.

“Hale.”

He paused with his hands still on the harness as she approached. “Yes?”

“You know I care for you.”

His smile was happy and a touch bashful. “I know.”

“But I—”

Before she could complete her thought, Geoffrey and Catherine rounded the corner with rosy cheeks and an offer for hot cocoa inside. She gazed into Hale’s enigmatic eyes, too nervous to hang her whole life on his words, too hopeful to do anything else. Only, the time for sinful play and private confidences had passed. His blank expression promised nothing.

Chapter Four

Two years now since I’ve seen you, held you. I miss you. Sometimes, when I am sleep deprived, and mildly drunk, I wonder if you are a hallucination, a mirage that will fade when I search for you. If this is true, I hope never to wake up.

Hale watched as Sidony linked arms with Catherine and went inside. He watched her brilliant smile and pink, chaffed cheeks. Joy, he thought. And comfort. Comfort—the sweet warmth of her body; and joy—the bright expanse of her heart. Or maybe it was the other way around, with the comfort he found in her nearness and the incandescent joy he found in her passion. He couldn’t decide, quite. It didn’t matter this Christmas. She was no longer theoretical, no longer an idea, a hope. She was here. So was he.

Too late, he noticed Geoffrey beside him with a curious expression.

“Are you all right?” his friend asked.

Hale forced a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “You’ve been gone a long time. Only natural if you needed time to adjust.”

Time to adjust? Hale was damn eager to resume his relationship with Sidony exactly where they’d left off. In love, ready to marry. Only the money had stopped him then, and he had that now. No, he didn’t need time; Sidony did. His stomach clenched with the knowledge. She needed time to forgive him, to trust him again. Had he pushed her too far, too fast? Maybe. And now he could lose everything.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said, his voice coming out a bit hoarsely. If only he could believe that. He
did
believe that, because if he didn’t, he would no longer have a damn thing to work for. What use was a fortune sitting in a bank in London without a wife to support with it? Not just any wife. He wanted Sidony. It had always been her. Only her.

They passed the horses off to the groom and met the women inside. Steaming mugs of cocoa waited for them, and he gratefully accepted one, carrying it to the window. He knew they were all watching him. Worried about him. Well, he was worried too.

And feeling guilty. He’d treated the proposal cavalierly to hide his fear that she’d refuse him. But Sidony deserved better than that.

When Catherine and Geoffrey began to play a card game, Sidony joined him by the window. She kept her distance with the others nearby, but he could still feel her heat. Her anxious gaze seared him. He’d done that, when he’d sworn never to do that. Not again.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

Is everything all right? Are
you
all right?
This was his lover, his best friend. He’d hated leaving her. Now he wasn’t even sure how he’d done it. It would be like cutting off his own arm, to leave again.

“Sidony, you know I care about you, too.” The words poured out of him, low and urgent. Inappropriate only a few feet away from her brother, but he couldn’t have stopped them. They reflected her confession to him and offered more in return. “I’ve wanted you so long and so much, I just assumed you knew it. That you understood. Tell me you understood.”

Her eyes were troubled. “I’m not… I wasn’t…”

He felt the blow in his gut. How deeply he’d failed her by not writing or visiting. He couldn’t have done so, though, and continued working. It was a type of war, building that shipping company, and he’d lived to fight these past three years. The steps he had taken to bind her to him had pushed her away.

“Come play for us,” Catherine interrupted cheerfully, linking her arm with Sidony’s.

He turned to the others. Geoffrey was looking suspicious now. God, this many years later and he wanted to play the protective older brother?

Sidony’s smile was forced. “Of course I will.”

“Something festive,” Catherine prompted, clearly trying to distract Geoffrey from his line of thought.

Sidony sat down at the pianoforte to play. The light, cheery strains of “God Rest Ye Marry Gentleman” filled the room, drowning out the tension. Catherine’s suggestion was inspired. He could stare at Sidony without provoking suspicion. Her sleek black hair had tumbled out of its curls from their excursion. Her cheeks were still flushed from the cold.

He remembered the way her lips had glistened outside with the proof of their passion. He remembered the way she’d tasted—of him. His body responded to the memory, and he shifted in his seat. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. He turned to stare at the mantel, feigning interest in a small porcelain dairy maid and her sheep.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

…

When they separated to rest before dinner, Sidony tried and failed to catch Hale’s eye. To her annoyance, he kept his face averted. She wished he could come to her room, but that would be too conspicuous. At dinner, he grew even quieter.

Her brother made a surprise announcement. “I am happy to share the news with you that Catherine has consented to be my wife.”

Something felt tight in Sidony’s throat. Happiness for her brother washed over her, but beneath the surface lurked an insidious fear. How precious love was, how rare. She should grab it while she could. Her body ached to feel Hale’s embrace, to see his smile—but he refused to meet her eyes.

“That’s wonderful!” she managed to say. “So lovely.”

Hale gave his best wishes with an underlying flatness. Did he feel it too? Or was he upset that she had refused him? After all, she
had
rejected him. Oh,
why
had she rejected him?

Geoffrey seemed, as usual, oblivious to any tension between Hale and herself. If Catherine noticed, she was too kind to show it.

“We will be sisters,” Sidony offered with a small smile.

Catherine reached for her hand and squeezed gently. “I have always thought of you that way. I will be glad to make it official.”

That night, Sidony waited for Hale to come to her. He had the night before and surely now, after she had told him she loved him, he would come. But he didn’t. She lay in bed, listening to the quiet rustling sounds of the house. Poppet trotted across the bed and curled up beside her face. One paw pressed into her neck, kneading her. His whole body rumbled in a purr. At least someone wanted to be close to her.

When she could take no longer, she stood and found her wrapper. Padding down the hallway, she found Hale’s room and slipped inside. He was lying on his bed. The drapery cast his still body in shadows.

“Are you awake?” she whispered.

“No.”

She crept closer. “Liar.”

“Go back to bed, Sidony.”

“I need to speak with you,” she said urgently. “It’s about—”

“I know what it’s about.” Resigned, he sat up slightly. “Come here, then. If you insist on staying, let’s get you off the cold floor.”

She climbed into bed and settled herself in his arms. They were quiet. His breathing evened out, but she knew he was awake by the strokes of his thumb against her forearm.

“I was wrong to give you a deadline,” he finally said. “We’d already been apart for three years. I couldn’t stand to wait any longer. But that wasn’t fair to you.”

Speechless, she waited.

“You deserve a proper courtship in town. I’ll follow you this season and request permission from Geoffrey to court you.”

Her heart clenched. This was even worse than an ultimatum. Now or never had been a terrifying prospect when she had not heard from him in so long. But at least she could have had him. Now? She would have to wait a whole season; then longer while they planned a wedding.

A small sound of protest came from her throat.

“
Shh
,” he said. “Sleep now. We can discuss it further.”

They slept that night. Restlessly, she dreamed of stormy seas. He had left, she thought hazily, and she had no way of finding him. She tossed in panic, only to find him, warm and soothing her.

In the morning she woke early. His erect flesh pressed against the small of her back. She rocked back, reveling in the tension of his body and the low groan he made.

“Not now. The maids will come.”

Reluctantly she acceded to his wishes and started to leave.

He stopped her. “Here.”

She accepted a heavy rectangular packet tied in brown paper and a blue ribbon.

“A present,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, but I—”

“Just take it,” he said, grimacing with self-effacement. “It’s already yours. I was just holding it.”

She rushed to her room and slipped into bed, tearing open the ribbon.

Inside were letters.

So many of them. Some had turned brown and wrinkled. Others were new, with different stationery and darker ink. Some were sheets of paper folded over while others were enclosed in unmarked envelopes.

Letters. He
had
written to her. He’d just never sent them.

She went through them, finding her way through half the stack. Her maid came and went, but she didn’t stop reading. Some were full-fledged missives. Others were notes scribbled down on scraps of paper. All had opening lines that threatened to slay her.
Dearest Sidony,
they said.
My love.
And continued to tell how he missed her, loved her. How he dreamed of coming back to her.

Where water had touched some of them, the ink had bled onto the page, fanning out into a black snowflake before drying onto paper once again. Her tears joined them on the page, and she swiped at her cheeks impatiently. Her movements became frantic as she flipped through the stack, catching only sentences and then words.
Love you, miss you. Wait for me.

And she had, she knew now. She set the papers down and closed her eyes. Moving on would have been impossible without closure. Not with the small, unquenchable hope in her heart that he would come back.

The last letter was written on beige parchment with dark ink.

My love,

Yesterday we docked in London, and in a few days travel I will see you again. After years of writing down every thought, I don’t know what I’ll say to you. I wish I could be witty and heartfelt, but that’s probably too much to ask. You must be angry at me. You should be. And yet, I cannot help but hope. It’s the only thing that’s sustained me this long—hope, and the knowledge that I must earn the means for your security before I deserve your love.

From discreet inquiries, I’ve learned you are not married or betrothed. I confess, when I heard that, I took a deep breath for the first time in years. The time we spent apart already feels like a dream. You’ll be there when I wake up, won’t you? I don’t know what I’ll do if you turn away from me. I ask only for a chance. I swear to you, I will never leave your side again.

…

That day she spent alone, but she needed the space. She needed the time to grieve for the boy he’d been. He’d given that up for her, that youthful buoyance, that boyish invincibility now replaced by duty. By hardship. Guilt clenched tightly in her chest as she lay in bed. Tears burned her eyes, but she forced them back. He didn’t want that from her. All he’d ever asked her to do was wait. His course may have been altered. Her faith may have wavered. But her answer was the same, and she knocked on his room late that evening to supply it.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “The answer is yes.”

He frowned, looking adorably rumpled in his robe. “I already said—”

“I know what you said. A chance. You have it. Stand by my side, from this Christmas on.”

His eyes darkened with emotion. “Sidony, you don’t have to do this. There is no hurry.”

“There
is
. For three years you’ve courted me, through danger and all around the world. I just didn’t know it. Couldn’t be sure.”

“But now you are?” He sounded skeptical.

“You must know that I love you. That I waited for you.”

He swallowed. “I hoped.”

“Come. This is my Christmas present.” She led him to her room and opened the door.

Poppet lounged on the bed, looking mildly annoyed by the blue ribbon tied in a bow at the nape of his neck. “He was… Bailey left a litter behind. They were all grey striped, except for this one. Black.” She smiled sadly. “He’s already yours. I was just holding him.”

“You did wait for me,” he said incredulously.

She nodded, unable to speak. Tears of longing and relief sprang to her eyes; there was no holding them back now. Raising her hands, she tried to hide—but he wouldn’t let her. Firm arms pulled her to him. A broad chest pillowed her head. Warm breath brushed her temple while he murmured to her, “There. It’s over now. I’m with you. I’m here.”

It only made her cry harder, because she hadn’t been sure this moment would ever come, and apparently neither had he. So much uncertainty of their promises, so much doubt in the face of their devotion. He caressed her hair with soothing strokes, washing away her fear. But then, they’d always had magic, those hands. They could calm her or excite her. They could spin an entire future from a few thin threads of hope.

When she quieted, she wiped her eyes and gazed up at him as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re really here.”

His eyes glistened. He quirked his lips. “Home for Christmas. You will marry me?”

“Yes.”

“You understand it is a step down. I still don’t have status or wealth like some—”

“Hale, I wanted to marry you when you were poor. I will find a way to persevere now that you are not.”