The Earl’s Mistletoe Bride (11 page)

Jon gave Saracen one last pat and left him contentedly munching hay in the lean-to behind the folly. The big horse was well used to being left there at night, while Jon enjoyed the peace and isolation of the place.

Jon slowly made his way round to the front. He could see through the small window that Beth had not lit any of the candles inside. What was she doing? Would she now finally realise what a momentous step she had chosen to take and change her mind? He hoped so.

And yet he hoped not. The thought of making love to Beth Aubrey—the woman he fully intended to marry—was an arousing one. She was everything a sensible
man could want in a wife: kind, generous, thoughtful, dedicated to doing good in the world. She was restful, and beautiful, too. She would grace his arm and his bed. God willing, they would make fine children together, children a man could be proud of. It would be a solid, reassuring union. As a woman, she could never be a trusted confidante, of course. Such was the reality of life. In public, they would have to be distant and formal, as their rank demanded, but in private they could be comfortable companions. It was more than he had dared to hope for in a wife.

Just at this moment, however, his body was telling him that a comfortable companion was not what he sought. His purpose now was to introduce Beth—his innocent Beth—to the joys and delights of lovemaking.

At the door he paused to look up at the night sky. No wonder it was so cold. There was not a single cloud. The great upturned bowl, the colour of deepest indigo, was spattered with the points of light he knew so well. This picture was eternal. These same stars would blaze down on Beth and Jon’s children, and on their children’s children. Nothing would change.

And yet, tonight everything would change. Children…He had told Beth that he knew the way of preventing conception, but she had not asked him to promise to use it. If Beth were not a virgin, she would never agree to marry him, so he was duty-bound to ensure that no child resulted from what they did together this night. He owed her that. But what if he found that he was holding a virgin in his arms? He fully expected it to be so. What then? She had promised to accept his proposal if there
were no risk of bigamy. And the purpose of marriage was children, was it not?

He shook his head. High above, the dog-star seemed to wink at him. ‘Yes, I know,’ he murmured, gazing up at it. ‘I am trying to find an unselfish reason for following my own selfish desires. And yet, the risk of pregnancy could make matters easier, later.’ He shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts. This was no time for logic-chopping.

He allowed himself one last glance up at the star-mapped sky. ‘I will make it good for her. I promise.’ He turned and opened the door.

She had put back the hood of her cloak and was kneeling on the rug in front of the hearth. Even across the full length of the room, he could see that her shoulders were shaking. Poor girl, she must be terrified. And he had been communing with the stars?

He closed the door quietly, not to frighten her, before setting down his hat and whip and striding across the room to kneel beside her. ‘Oh, my poor Beth,’ he began gently, putting a comforting arm round her shoulders.

The face she turned up to him was not stricken, not in the least. It was alight with laughter.

‘Beth?’

‘Tea!’ The single word was barely a croak. She was laughing too much to be able to control her voice.

He looked down at the tea tray he had ordered. It was unusual, to be sure, but it had seemed a good idea. Comforting, unthreatening.

‘Tea!’ she said again, on a throaty chuckle.

He was trying very hard to keep his face straight, but
he knew he was not really succeeding. ‘I thought you might be glad of it, after our cold midnight ride.’

‘And indeed I am, sir. See, I have set the kettle to boil.’ She had swung the kettle fully over the fire. ‘But I must tell you that this was not quite what I was expecting.’

‘Oh?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘I had imagined champagne, or something equally decadent.’

‘You may have champagne, or brandy, if you wish. I have both here. I could even make you hot rum punch if you had a fancy for it.’

She shook her head, trying not to smile.

‘No, I thought not. Remember that we are friends, Beth. After this night, we will soon be man and wife. And still true friends.’

Her expression became more serious, but she did not protest. They both knew the condition. There was no point in belabouring it.

‘True friends enjoy each other’s company and seek to provide for each other’s comfort. In your case, tea seemed to be the ideal solution.’

Beth touched her hand to Jon’s arm. ‘You are a good friend, sir.’

‘No. No, I will not permit that. Not when we are alone. You will not call me “sir” as if you were an inferior. You are to be my wife, my countess. My name is Jon. Jonathan if you must, but I should prefer Jon.’

Her eyes widened and misted for a moment. ‘Jon,’ she said slowly, lingering over the sound as if testing it, tasting it with her tongue. ‘For this night at least, it shall be as you wish.’

T
he orange and red of the fire was vividly reflected in her wide, glowing eyes. Her laughter had been infectious, and good to hear, for it meant that she was not afraid. She was doing what she wanted. And with a full heart.

He took both her hands in his—as he had done so many times before—and gently raised her. But this time, there was no chaste kiss on her white skin. This time, he raised first one hand and then the other to his lips and took finger after finger into his mouth, sucking greedily. Reaching her second index finger, he began to nibble her flesh, too.

She gave a little yelp of surprise. Then it mellowed into a sigh of acceptance, and pleasure.

By the time he came to the ring finger of her left hand, he was desperate for more than this. He swallowed it to the first knuckle, and the second, then slowly pulled his mouth away again, in a long drawn out kiss,
revelling in the trail of heat and desire he was leaving behind him. On this finger, she would wear his ring. He paused, holding the very end of her ring finger lightly between his lips and stroking its fleshy pad with the tip of his tongue. She tasted wholly delicious.

She groaned, deep in her belly. It was the sound of willing surrender. At last. Jon pulled her into his arms and began to plunder her soft, yielding mouth. She was almost as eager as he, though her lack of experience was just as obvious as on that first occasion. She wanted him. She wanted
this
, but she certainly did not know the way of it.

Jon told himself to go slowly, to take her with him every step of the way, to show her how to relish the moment, the touch, the feelings that they would enjoy together. He would make it beautiful for them both.

He drove his hands deep into her hair. From far off, he heard the tinny sounds of metal—hair pins?—clinking on the hearth as her hair tumbled and settled in silken waves around her shoulders. He was holding her head steady for his kiss, but she was avid for him, too. She dug her hands under his waistcoat and round to his back where her fingers gripped and tugged at the fine linen of his shirt, trying to reach his skin.

This was not the slow, gentle seduction he had intended. He forced himself to break the kiss and take a pace back, dropping his hands.

‘Jon?’ His abrupt movement had loosed her frenzied grip on his flesh. Her face was glowing in the firelight, but with far too much colour now. She was embarrassed again, poor girl. She thought… He did not know what she thought, but he did know he must reassure her.

‘We go too fast, Beth.’ He spoke softly, stroking the back of his fingers soothingly down her cheek. ‘You are very lovely, but I fear my desire is driving me faster than is wise.’

She swallowed hard, but when she looked up at him again, her eyes were defiant. ‘You forget, sir—’ she began proudly. ‘Pray do not forget, Jon,’ she repeated, rather more gently, ‘that I am a willing partner here.’

Partner.
The word had a good, solid sound to it. He liked it. ‘Yes, we
shall
be partners. But, for this first time, our partnership should blossom a little more slowly.’ He smiled down at her and, with careful fingers, began to untie the strings of her cloak. Behind them, the kettle had begun to boil. With barely a sideways glance, Jon hooked it away from the fire with his boot. This was definitely not a moment for tea.

By the time he had removed her cloak and turned to lay it aside, Beth’s breathing had become fast and shallow. Not fear, but desire. She might be innocent—he was sure of that in his own mind—but even an innocent could be overtaken by the human body’s natural urges. Jon’s task was to fan those flames. The slightest mistake on his part could damp her natural fires and ruin this night for her. That must not happen.

When he turned back to her, he saw that she was starting to undo the neck of her simple gown, in the sort of practical, matter-of-fact way that he had come to associate with Beth Aubrey.

‘No,’ he whispered, laying his fingers over hers. ‘Pray allow me. This gift you are offering me needs to be unwrapped very, very slowly. It would be generous indeed if you permitted me to do this. Please, Beth.’

‘I— Oh.’ She coloured again until her skin was like a ripe peach, its luscious flesh concealed beneath the dark bloom, inviting a lover’s bite.

‘But if you keep looking at me like that, my dear girl, I shall find myself hard put not to simply tear off your gown.’ That was nothing less than the truth, for she looked good enough to eat.

‘Oh,’ she said again, but this time with a knowing glint in her eye. Her beautiful blush was fading, and her mouth was starting to curve into a shy but eloquent smile. She slipped her fingers out from under his, teasingly stroking his palm as she did so. She was beginning to understand this game of theirs. And, he suspected, to enjoy it very much.

Jon slowly removed the pins that fastened the front panel of her gown. It fell forward, revealing the simple white chemise beneath and the ties of her skirt. His eyes widened—she wore no corset. There was only a single layer of lawn between his fingers and her breasts.

She read his reaction immediately. ‘I…I had to be able to dress myself without help,’ she whispered.

Practical as ever. She could hardly summon Hetty to lace her into her stays at midnight. And yet she was shy of the fact that she had come to meet Jon while less than properly clad. He put his hands to her face and kissed her gently, full on the mouth. Her response surprised him. Her lips opened under his and her sweet breath invited him in.

He moaned and deepened the kiss. At the same time, he dropped his fingers to the ties of her skirt. One single tug, and they were undone. Using touch alone, he pushed the gown off her shoulders so that it slithered down her
body to pool at her feet. It made almost no sound, for the fabric was old and soft. One day, Jon would dress her in the finest silks and satins, fabrics that would rustle luxuriously when he peeled them away to reveal the glories beneath.

Glories they were. He could not resist stepping back to admire her. Somewhere, she had kicked off her shoes, for she was now clad in only a chemise and stockings. That thin chemise did nothing to conceal her breasts—small, pert and the delicious colour of cream ripening in the skimming pan. Under Jon’s appreciative gaze, her nipples rose and darkened, straining up towards him. It was the most erotic vision he had ever seen.

Jon’s body reacted instantly. Shocked at his own callow response, he heard himself groan aloud.

‘Jon? Is something wrong?’

Absolutely nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. Except that, if he did not put his lips to those perfect pouting nipples, his body might explode.

He threw off his coat and waistcoat and glanced towards the bed in the corner. No, not there. Here, in the warmth. Here, where every inch of her skin would glow.

He set his hands on her bare shoulders. A fleeting touch. ‘How beautiful you are there, lit by the flames. Give me a moment.’

She frowned, puzzled, though she did not move from her place. But her frown melted away, as she watched him pull off his cravat and then drag the bed out from the corner and into the space in front of the fire. He had tumbled the colourful cushions into a heap in the middle.

‘Will it please you to sit, my lady?’ He waved a hand towards the bed. Then he held it out to her with exaggerated courtesy.

Beth’s stomach lurched. The bed was only two steps away, the two most important steps of her life. She hesitated for a fraction too long.

‘Beth?’ He sounded uncertain, troubled.

Beth hesitated no longer. She placed her fingers in his and squeezed gently. ‘I swear that is a throne you have prepared for me,’ she said lightly, nodding towards the piles of silken cushions.

It was the reassurance he seemed to need. He did not give her a chance to move. He just swept her up into his arms and laid her down on the bed, arranging the cushions for her head and back. She allowed her body to sink deep into the unaccustomed luxury. ‘Ah, that is wonderful,’ she sighed, turning her face against the silk and breathing deeply. It had a fragrance of its own, of exotic places where the sun shone fiercely and the sky was too blue to be captured by any painter’s palette. She was in a dream. She must be. Such bliss could not be real.

He was still standing, staring down at her, watching her every movement. She stroked the fingers of one hand over the velvet coverlet and purred like a contented cat. ‘Mmm. How comfortable this is. But a little lonely, I would say. Do you think there is room for two?’ She lifted her naked arms invitingly.

‘Aye, provided we snuggle together a little.’ His voice seemed to have become lower than normal.

‘That sounds…er…a most practical approach.’ Beth gave a nervous giggle. Enough! She could not bear to
wait any longer. ‘Would you care to try the experiment? Jon?’ She stretched her arms even more towards him.

In a second, he was lying beside her, pulling her close. She could feel the heat of him through the layers of his shirt and her chemise. His heart was thrumming. Or was it hers? It felt like the pulse of a drum, linking their two bodies. But not close enough.

She pushed at the fabric of his shirt where it opened at the collar, exposing the deeply tanned skin of his neck and upper chest. ‘There
are
buttons, you know,’ he said throatily, putting his fingers to them. ‘How shall I explain to my valet if they are all ripped off?’

Beth had just enough sense left to appreciate the risk he described. Her gown must not be torn; nor must his shirt. She took a deep breath and applied herself to his buttons. Unfortunately, her fingers seemed to have forgotten their role. They would not obey her.

Jon laughed and raised one of her hands to his mouth. A kiss, and then the nibbling began again. Beth felt as if her insides were melting, and glowing fit to outdo the fire.

‘Let me,’ he said softly, laying her fingers against his neck while he found and undid his shirt buttons. ‘And now, what is your will, my lady?’

His shirt was open to the waist and free of his riding breeches. The invitation was obvious, but he was going slowly, out of concern for Beth. He was allowing her to set the pace she wanted.

Oh, how she loved this man! And how she wanted him! Desire was driving her now. All thoughts of missish propriety were long forgotten. With one delicious
movement, she slid her fingers into the gap, then stroked up across his chest and shoulders, to push the shirt from his body. ‘Ah.’ The single word emerged as half-sigh, half-groan. He was beautiful. And in the firelight, his body was glowing with a golden warmth. Her knight, her golden knight. He would be hers, at last.

His mouth came down on hers, seeking, probing, gently at first, but once she began to respond, he became more demanding. He sucked at her lips and then he nibbled them, just as he had done her fingers, though the sensation was even more arousing on her mouth. Beth closed her eyes and gave herself up to her other senses. Emboldened by the darkness, she touched the tip of her tongue to his and felt an answering groan rippling through his body and into hers. She gasped his name, but it made no sound at all, for he swallowed her very breath and deepened the kiss yet more. Their tongues began to touch and tangle. They were united, in taste, in touch, even in the air they breathed.

When, at last, Jon broke the kiss, they were both gasping like drowning men pushing up to the surface of the sea. But if this was drowning, Beth would gladly give herself up to it. Her whole being was soft and molten, and as pliable as potter’s clay. She felt as though Jon’s kisses had dissolved her bones, leaving her formless, ready to take some exquisite new shape under his hands. She wanted to be enfolded in his arms once more, to fill the space that his gentle embrace would create.

The silence lengthened. He had gone from her. Reluctantly, apprehensively, Beth opened her eyes. ‘Jon?’ Her voice quavered.

‘I am here.’ He was over by the window. Beth moved
just in time to see him extinguish the oil lamp. The candle by the door had already been snuffed out. ‘Forgive me,’ he said softly. ‘I did not mean to alarm you, but I thought you might prefer the dark. Now we have only the glow of the fire. Does it trouble you? I can screen it if you prefer.’

Without light, Beth would not be able to feast her gaze on her golden knight. ‘No, it does not trouble me.’ She swallowed and then added, greatly daring, ‘Though your absence did.’ Shocked by her own forwardness, Beth closed her eyes and tried to force herself to relax into the cushions. After a moment, she felt the bed dip as Jon sat down. She thought she could hear him struggling with his boots. And she was sure she heard a muttered curse. She giggled nervously. She could not help it.

‘It appears I am quite useless without a valet to pull off my boots.’

There was laughter in his voice. ‘I could help you, if you wish?’

‘Good God, no!’ he exclaimed, still laughing. ‘I could not cope with the sight of you kneeling at my feet. It is difficult enough as it is.’

‘Perhaps you should buy boots that do not fit quite so snugly?’

‘I may tell you, ma’am, that it is not the snug fit of my boots that is troubling me at this precise moment.’

Beth half-opened her eyes and then shut them again hurriedly. Jon was removing his tight riding breeches. In a moment, he would be completely naked. In a moment, he would be stretched out beside her. The tension grew, first in her neck and shoulders, and then spread down through her torso to her stomach.

‘Beth.’ He was beside her again. She could feel his warm breath fluttering across her cheek. ‘Beth, open your eyes. Please.’

She could not resist that pleading note. And when she looked, she saw his face above her, half in shadow, and half glowing red in the firelight. Yet, in spite of the glow, his eyes seemed to be completely black, like fathomless pools. She longed to drown in them.

‘Beth. My beautiful Beth. Will you permit me to remove your chemise so that I may see you? All of you?’ When she hesitated, he continued hurriedly, ‘I know you are shy. I ask too much. Forgive me.’ He stroked his hand down the side of her body, smoothing the chemise into place as if he were trying to restore, rather than remove it.