December Heart

by Farmer, Merry

  “Of course,” she answered, feeling a paradoxical burst of pity for him.

  “Good.” He let out a relieved breath, and bent to kiss her.

  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, needing to embrace him, even if she didn’t understand why. It was easier to give her body to him and to share pleasure than it was to comprehend the mysteries of who her husband was. She only hoped that in the morning, as their lives together truly began, she would finally get to know the man she’d married and figure out how she fit into his life.

  Chapter 8

  Sometime in the night, as was usual for him after the times Anne had forced her way into his bed, Peter rolled to his side. But a strange, new sensation greeted him when he woke. Not only was the other side of the bed not cold and abandoned, Mariah lay curled against his back, one arm thrown over his side. Her breath warmed his shoulder.

  His chest ached with a sudden poignancy that came close to devastating him. Mariah hadn’t retreated to the sanctity of her own space. She embraced him in her sleep. He could feel the silken softness of her curls against his backside. He was instantly aroused and growing harder by the minute, but it was his heart that throbbed the most.

  When was the last time someone had hugged him? Not a cursory embrace from a friend or Anne’s frantic clinging as she urged him to come inside her, or even the cloying grasps of the women he’d tried to take as mistresses, but failed to when guilt overwhelmed him. The last time that anyone had put their arms around him of their own volition, motivated only by affection…must have been his mother. And she’d been gone for almost forty years.

  He swallowed the sigh that attempted to escape from his throat. It shocked him. Why on earth was he weeping at the knowledge that everything he had longed for was nestled softly against him?

  He twisted, rolling Mariah with him and reversing their positions. It was his turn to spoon her, and nothing had ever felt so heavenly. She sighed with contentment, hinting that she was awake, but he didn’t speak, barely moved. He considered lifting her leg over his and entering her, but that would be too much. In spite of the throb of his arousal, all he wanted to do was hold her, breathe in the scent of her, love her.

  Love her?

  He’d worry about that unfamiliar sentiment later. For the moment, he buried his face in the pillow of her hair, still fragrant from her bath the night before, and concentrated on the beat of his heart against her back.

  “Are we going to get up?” she whispered.

  “No,” he murmured in return. “We’re going to stay like this forever.”

  “Oh,” she sighed happily, wriggling against him, making herself comfortable.

  The rub of her backside against his erection was heavenly torture, but still he made no move to seek out satisfaction. The act of lying with her in a state of blissful arousal was enough for him. Although perhaps she needed something as well.

  He moved his hand between her legs, satisfied beyond measure to find her wet. But he was in no hurry to bring her to orgasm. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he teased her with a gentle touch. She remained silent, the raggedness of her breath his only clue that she was awake and alight.

  And he was happy. Happier than he’d been in ages. It had come out of nowhere. All he’d wanted was a woman to give him an heir. But this, this was heaven. Mariah’s shallow breaths turned into pleasured sighs, and she arched into his hand. This wasn’t a futile attempt to erase failure after failure after failure. This was a moment. This was now. This was the two of them, taken by surprise, by each other, building something that could be so much more than anything he’d ever had.

  He would protect this with his life, his soul.

  “I need you inside of me,” she whispered, trembling with that need.

  He didn’t hesitate. He took hold of her thigh, guided her to shift positions, then pushed inside of her. The sound of acceptance that rippled from her went straight to his heart. He took his time, reveling in the sounds of pleasure she made, drawing out the moment. They could be so much more than a means to an end. He could feel it in the way she moved with him, finding and matching his rhythm. They could be partners, lovers, everything.

  He would keep her safe. He wouldn’t fail her as he’d failed Anne, as he’d failed himself. If he had to bring down the stars to do it, he would shelter Mariah from the world’s cruelty.

  She came with a rending sigh, bringing him to the brink of completion. As her body relaxed into satisfaction, he withdrew, rolled her to her back, then continued thrusting as he gazed down at her. The acceptance that radiated from her was enough to push him to the edge, and he came with a glowing burst of warmth that took his breath away. It was beautiful, wonderful, precious.

  They slept a while longer, still snuggled together, but eventually, reality invaded. Mariah showed reluctance to leave his bed—which was the most charming thing he’d ever been privy to—then returned to her room to dress. He washed and dressed as well, but they met for another lingering kiss in his room before heading downstairs to the breakfast room.

  “Are you ready to face the day, Lady Dunsford?” he asked, stealing one last kiss.

  “I am, my lord,” she answered with a flick of her brow. “Oh, I just want to fetch a shawl. You go ahead without me.”

  Like a schoolboy with his first crush, he watched Mariah rush back through the dressing room. He shook his head and chuckled, then made his way downstairs.

  And, like too many dreams, his ended with a withering crash of reality.

  “So, Uncle. Where’s this wife of yours?”

  William was already seated at the table in the breakfast room. His hair was unkempt and he needed a shave. He wore only a vest above his shirt, but at least his clothes were clean. A pang of regret hit Peter as he moved to the sideboard to fix a plate from the breakfast offerings. He should have done a better job of guiding William after Will’s death. He wanted to be a father himself, but he’d failed miserably where his nephew was concerned.

  “Mariah is on her way down,” he answered without looking at William.

  “That slow and decrepit, is she?” William snorted. “But then, I suppose the only women who would have an old dog like you were the spinsters gathering dust on the shelf.”

  Peter frowned as he carried his plate to the table, but didn’t reward William with a reply. The young man was likely baiting him into losing his temper, something that had become William’s favorite pastime since learning he could inherit half of Starcross should Peter kick him out in a fit of pique.

  “I heard that this Mariah of yours had a man but couldn’t keep him.” William shook his head and made a sound of mock sympathy. “And now she’s stuck with you.”

  Davy, one of the footmen, slid silently up to the table to pour a cup of coffee for Peter. The dark, ferocious instinct to protect Mariah from William’s vicious brand of gossip all but killed Peter’s appetite. He couldn’t let his nephew see that his insults had hit their mark, so he kept his face perfectly impassive, pretending he didn’t care. It was harder than it’d ever been.

  “It’s a shame, though,” William went on.

  “What is?” Peter sipped his coffee, checking on the headlines of the newspaper at his place.

  “That my creditors snapped their purses closed so quickly the second they heard about your marriage.”

  Peter glanced up at his nephew with a frown.

  “Oh yes,” William went on. “It seems I’ve suddenly become too much of a risk, now that my claim to Starcross Castle and its riches is in question.”

  “That’s not my problem.” Peter took another sip of coffee, his pulse racing.

  “Isn’t it?” William seethed. A moment later, he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I think my creditors have more faith in womankind than I do. What kind of woman would stoop to marry the likes of you, after all?”

  Peter didn’t acknowledge the jab.

  “As far as I can see, after a twenty-year marriage that produced no chil
dren, the only thing you have to offer a woman is a title and its trappings.”

  “Get to your point, William,” Peter said with a fake sigh.

  “Write to my creditors and tell them you did not marry to get an heir. Assure them that I am still in line to inherit, and that this new wife of yours is for show only.”

  Peter’s only response was a single, raised eyebrow.

  “It is just for show, isn’t it?” William leaned forward, worry pinching his face. “You can’t actually be so stupid that you’d inflict your poisonous seed on another woman. Not after what you did to Anne.”

  Peter couldn’t hide his wince fast enough. He buttered a piece of toast, pretending to read the paper.

  William’s smarmy attempts to get under Peter’s skin shifted to genuine anger. “Lawrence said my debts would all be called in if your new wife has a son. They’ve started taking bets on when your new heir will be born.”

  Peter’s gut clenched in alarm. Oscar Lawrence was one of the most notorious money-lenders in London, but that was only the beginning. Lawrence was little more than a shill. The real power behind that particular, seedy empire was none other than Theodore Shayles. And if Shayles was involved, it was likely that William was nothing more than a pawn to get to him.

  If he’d known Shayles was involved and his progeny was the stuff of wagers, he would have thought twice about marrying Mariah. But now that his heart was involved, there was no going back.

  “Come on, old man,” William pushed on when Peter was silent too long. “Tell me what this new wife of yours is like.”

  “She could tell you herself,” Mariah said, sweeping into the room.

  Panic flooded Peter. Mariah stood beside the sideboard with a look of defiance for William. She was radiant in her indignation, but she didn’t know what she was walking into.

  “This is Mariah,” he said, pretending not to be interested. Inwardly, he prayed that Mariah would sense his caution and stay as far from William as she could.

  She glanced his way with a curious frown. He met her eyes and tried with all his might to communicate the danger in front of her without words, but her expression grew more confused.

  And then it was too late.

  “Well, well.” William stood, sauntering up to Mariah. “Hello, auntie.”

  “Mariah, please fix your breakfast then come have a seat by me,” Peter said, showing no emotion, nothing William could capitalize on.

  “I—” Blinking, Mariah glanced from William to Peter with a look of shock. “I haven’t been introduced to your nephew.”

  The panic pulsing through Peter grew hotter. “Mariah, this is my nephew, Lord William deVere,” he said, gesturing with his fork but not getting up. “William, my wife, Lady Mariah deVere, Countess of Dunsford. Please show her the respect she is due.”

  “Yes, uncle,” William said and studied Mariah with far too much salaciousness.

  Mariah did a double-take and stepped away from William. She went to the sideboard to make a plate for herself, her confused look deepening. Peter breathed half a sigh of relief, but his nerves remained on edge as William continued to watch her. He rubbed his jaw and bit his lip with open lust.

  “That’s enough,” Peter barked, glaring at him.

  “I was just being friendly,” William tossed back at him. He returned to his seat with a chuckle, his eyes never leaving Mariah.

  “My wife deserves your respect, not your friendship.” He glared at William until the whelp looked up at him.

  A predatory smile spread across William’s face. “Well, if she means that much to you.”

  Peter’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. He’d been too careless too quickly. William had spotted his weakness. He sent a wolfish grin in Mariah’s direction as she brought her plate to the table and sat. Peter had to do something, and he had to do it immediately.

  “She’s the countess,” he said feigning indifference and focusing on his breakfast. “She deserves the respect befitting her rank.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” William said, his tone mocking.

  Peter pretended the matter was settled and went through the motions of eating, but the food was like ash in his mouth. He should have packed Mariah up and taken her to his London house the moment he discovered William was at Starcross Castle.

  Once, when Mariah was a child, she’d stumbled across a hornet’s nest while playing near the river. The sensation of sudden fear and the urgency to get away that she’d felt then was a little too close to the tension that buzzed throughout the breakfast room. But what brought her up short wasn’t Lord William’s lascivious greeting, it was the harshness in Peter’s eyes. That and the fact that he had commanded her to get her breakfast and sit down as though she were a child.

  The snap of resentment that raised in her was second only to her utter confusion that he would speak to her like that and look at her the way he had, almost as if she’d done something wrong and he was scolding her. What had happened to the man who had held her so tenderly early that morning and had made love to her so sweetly?

  “What brings you to Starcross Castle, Lord William?” Mariah asked, falling back on politeness. “I thought you lived in London.”

  “I heard my uncle had married, and I wanted to be here to meet my new aunt,” William said, arching an eyebrow at Mariah and biting his lip.

  Mariah blinked rapidly, hardly believing William’s shockingly inappropriate advances. But Peter didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, it was as if he didn’t care. Mariah did her best not to be hurt, but she couldn’t help it.

  “It’s downright cruel, you know,” William said when no one immediately responded to him.

  “What is cruel?” Mariah asked, since Peter seemed more interested in his eggs than the question…or her.

  “To shackle such a pretty, young woman to this crumbling ruin.”

  The only indication Mariah had that Peter had heard the comment was a tightening around his mouth and eyes.

  “You sound like my sister, Victoria,” Mariah said, imitating Peter and focusing on her meal. Peter must have been pretending indifference for a reason, and until she had a chance to ask him what that reason was, sense told her it was best to follow his lead.

  “Sister?” William perked up. “You have a sister?”

  “She’s nineteen,” Peter said without looking up.

  “Even better.”

  Mariah frowned at William’s tone. “Are you married, Lord William?” she asked. She knew the answer, but figured it was safer to get the man talking about himself than prying for details about Victoria.

  “No,” William answered with a snort. “You would never find me with a marital noose around my neck. Well, until the time comes to get an heir.”

  There was too much bitterness in William’s voice and the way he glared across the table at Peter. Mariah suddenly saw what Peter had told her about William being his heir for now in a new light. It wasn’t just names on a family tree. To William, it meant more. A shiver shot down her spine.

  “I suppose I should start searching for a wife soon, though,” William went on. “Uncle here isn’t getting any younger and, well, a nubile young bride is useless when the groom has ancient piping.”

  Mariah nearly choked on her toast. Surely William couldn’t be so crude as to bring up a subject like that at the breakfast table.

  “Hold your tongue,” Peter said with surprisingly little interest, glancing at his newspaper. His cheeks reddened.

  William grinned. “I’d be happy to do the job for you, if you’d like.”

  “I said, hold your tongue.” At last, Peter looked up, glaring at William.

  Mariah watched the silent exchange between the two men, her tea cup suspended halfway to her lips. Peter was furious, and William…well, he looked as though he’d discovered a secret. He couldn’t think that Peter was incapable in bed, could he?

  The whole jumble was too much for Mariah’s brain to tackle in the midst of so many other changes. She sip
ped her tea at last, deciding it would be better for everyone if she sat back, observed, and learned the terrain before charging off into it.

  After several minutes of silence, Mr. Snyder strode into the room. He waited until Peter acknowledged him, then said, “My lord, Mr. Sinclair is here to speak to you about the situation at the mine.”

  Peter glanced to Mariah, worry creasing his brow, then flashed a look to William. He glanced back to her with the stern look of command he’d worn earlier. Mariah frowned. What was he trying to tell her?

  “Would…would you like my help with Mr. Sinclair?” she ventured.

  “No,” he said, a little too fast. Her spirits sank. “Perhaps you could meet with Mrs. Wilson about the running of the house as she requested.”

  “Oh…all right.”

  “Tell Mr. Sinclair that I’ll be with him shortly.” Peter focused on Mr. Snyder, ignoring Mariah completely. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then stood, heading out of the room with Mr. Snyder in tow.

  Frustration killed the last of Mariah’s appetite. Reason told her to trust Peter, but her heart felt bruised. They had been getting along so well. Was that simply the honeymoon state, and was this new coldness the way their marriage would progress? But no, that didn’t seem right at all. She didn’t like not knowing the rules of the game they were playing.

  “Interesting,” William said. He had slumped sideways in his chair and was watching Mariah while rubbing his lips.

  “The trouble at the mine?” she asked, knowing full well that wasn’t what he meant.

  “No. You.” He shifted suddenly forward, staring at her with an intensity that caused Mariah to drop her fork. “I thought you’d be much older, much…dustier.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” She picked up her fork, but her hand shook too much to continue eating.

  “You have no idea,” William mumbled. He shifted to lean one elbow on the table and asked, “Has my uncle been able to get it up yet?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mariah flushed hot, unable to meet his eyes directly.