by Alex Grayson
“I’m going to be a Hastings, just like Aunt Ellie,” she said.
“Quite right. Would you like that to begin today?”
Lissie’s eyes and mouth widened with wonder. Then her smile dropped, and she reached for me. She clung to my wrist as she nailed me with her intense blue stare. “I stay with you, right?”
And there she was—the scared little girl who shared my fear of abandonment. Once upon a time, Lissie and I had lost everything. Her mother, my sister. Our grandmother. Gran and Isobel were all we’d ever had. We’d lost them to an order of British assassins seeking to end my father’s legacy by taking my life. The story was a long one, but in the end, Will had seen to the deaths of those assassins. Our grief and our anger were all that remained.
The truth was, Lissie was already a Hastings, though we still hadn’t told her that Will’s older brother was her father. Ethan was dead, murdered by the same group of assassins.
I took Lissie’s face between my hands. “I will never leave you, sweet girl. No one can take you away from me. Uncle Will would never allow us to be parted. We are your parents now, and Eastridge is your forever home.”
God, she was a beautiful child. I loved her more with each day that passed. I was determined to dig deep within myself to find the strength I needed to become the mother she deserved.
Elisabeth Rose Hastings hugged my waist, her face nuzzled in my sweater, and then she launched herself into Will’s arms. She didn’t need to say anything. Will and I understood. She was grateful for her new family and for the home she loved as much as we did. We often overheard her whispers of gratitude during her prayers at night, after she was tucked into her bed.
Will’s brother joined us at the end of the table. Thomas gestured for my hand, kissed it, and raised his mimosa-filled champagne glass. “To my brother and his lovely bride,” he said. “Congratulations on the adoption. You blessed this family, brother, when you brought Ellie and Lissie home to England. We have endured great loss, but now, with you at the wheel, our family has a future. It will grow and thrive from this day forward. Happy Christmas!”
Will nodded to thank his brother while the guests echoed Thomas’s wishes with a chorus of congratulatory cheers and “happy Christmases.” I smiled, pride and love warming my cheeks.
“Come now, everyone,” Mary announced. “Let’s eat something. The children are waiting to burn their letters to Father Christmas and for the tree lighting, and our bride must prepare for the ceremony this afternoon.”
Lissie skipped back out to the hall to rejoin the other children, and as Will and I hit the buffet to fill our breakfast plates, I whispered to him, “What’s in the other envelope?”
“It contains a copy of the Queen’s recent letters patent, which publicizes her declarations, including her conferment of the earldom to us. The package is her wedding gift to you.”
Shortly after announcing our engagement, Will and I had been invited to Windsor Castle for tea with the Queen and her ministers. We had agreed that our family would support her grandson as heir apparent, and in return, the Crown would stand united with us against any further attempts to suppress my bloodline.
The secret elimination of my once-royal lineage had finally come to an end. But it was too late. The highest price had already been paid. My family was gone.
Will
My youngest brother, John, stood next to me at the altar of our great-grandfather’s old stone church, before the stained-glass window depicting the death of Christ. The altar was elevated by three steps, and it featured a massive table built of the same Scottish oak that had been used inside the house. The table’s heavy wooden legs were embellished with carvings, and the top was adorned with white roses, candlesticks, and the bishop’s cloth for the marriage ceremony.
Fragrant wisteria vines were blended into the Christmas greenery that hung from the ceiling beams, cascading above our heads like mountain waterfalls made of creamy-white blossoms.
Mother had outdone herself.
Floorboards groaned beneath our feet as John and I shifted our weight.
The bishop of Chichester gestured for my attention, then he bowed to my mother. It was my prompt to escort Mum to her seat. Thomas and Elle were on their way over from the house.
Thomas would stand with John and me after he arrived, but because of the excessive amount of activity on the estate, I had insisted that he protect Elle until I could receive her at the church. She had asked me for some space, and I needed to know that she was safe. I trusted no one more than Thomas.
Elle and I had sent provocative text messages to each other throughout the day while I entertained guests and she indulged in the traditional pre-ceremony pampering. With each teasing message, I’d craved her touch more, and every part of me had ached to make her mine.
Inside my breast pocket, my mobile vibrated against my chest again. I’d broken another of my mother’s rules—she’d asked everyone to leave their phones in the vestibule, but there was no fucking way I would go without direct access to Elle.
My mind reeled over the reason she might be texting me at the time she was supposed to be making her way down the aisle to join me at the altar. Christ, she’d already made me wait quite long enough. I scowled over my shoulder at our seated guests, unlocked the screen, and read her message: I need to see you outside.
Everything had been fine when we had parted after breakfast. Elle had insisted that I shouldn’t see her again until she arrived at the church. Seven hours had come and gone, and I couldn’t take another goddamned minute without her.
“She’s outside,” I said to John.
“Wait for her, brother.” He pushed his hand against my shoulder.
I shoved his arm aside and headed down the aisle between the rows of questioning faces. I glared at those faces with their silent offensive inquiries as I walked past. Elle was more than I deserved, and they all knew it. Were they wondering if she had backed out on me?
I knew that she had not.
I broke through the pair of wooden doors and found her waiting for me. My breath caught. I was remotely aware of Thomas coming towards me and my mother, the children, and our guests filing out of the church behind me.
My angel sat on top of a majestic gray horse. She was wearing a white fur cloak over her wedding gown, its fullness draping beautifully round her body, hiding everything from me except for her gloved hands and her face.
The remaining leaves on our wishing oak fluttered in the cold wind. Fallen leaves crunched beneath my shoes. White ribbons swayed from the branches as large snowflakes fell lazily from above and floated round the church garden. The first of the season. Maybe the last. One snowflake landed on the tip of Elle’s nose and another on her bottom lip. Envy gripped me. I wanted to be the one kissing her there.
She removed the fur hood from her pretty head and locked her gaze into mine. Her jewel-encrusted wedding tiara shined brilliantly, but that wasn’t the beauty that captivated me. It was her perfect smile. A striking combination of mischief and innocence marked her lips and her eyes and stabbed me in the heart, leaving scars there and on my brain.
Elle’s words ended the silence. “Marry me, Will.”
As she reached for me with both arms, daring to fall from the horse’s back into my arms, a sense of calm washed over me. Like those fucking snowflakes, that peaceful moment deep within me was unexpected. I didn’t know how to make it last. Didn’t know how to capture it and preserve it. It hit me then. Only one thing mattered, and it wasn’t how to manage my own heart but rather what I would do to protect hers.
I caught her in my arms, but before her feet touched the ground, I kissed her lips.
“Nothing could stop me, baby. I’m going to marry you right here, right fucking now.”
“Can’t wait,” she whispered.
3
Will
Wedding Night
Our wedding reception was a lovely blend of dinner, dancing, and caroling. It had been Elle’s idea to get
married on Christmas Eve. The woman who was the absolute center of my world preferred to avoid being the center of anything else, so she used the holiday season as a buffer to alleviate her discomfort. I rolled with it because all that mattered to me was giving her whatever she wanted.
Elle’s plan failed just as I knew it would. My beautiful wife’s soul would always be the most brilliant light in every room, on every occasion, in every season.
I watched her while throwing back another double shot of whisky. She stood several feet away from me in the center of the great hall, talking and laughing with Jessica and another young woman who was from the fashion house where her wedding gowns had been made.
Elle held a glass of champagne and Lissie’s hand. Her eyes sparkled as she raised the crystal flute to her lips for a sip of her favorite vintage. Lissie’s small face was beaming with curious wonder as she watched, her quiet exhilaration making it seem as if she’d fallen through a looking glass into an enchanting new world.
“Ease up, mate. You’re going to burn a hole through her with that stare.” Ben Scott was my best friend, and he could read me better than most. “Jess said Ellie’s anxiety is well in hand. There’s no doubt you’ve made her happy today. It’s quite clear that she’s in love with you.”
It wasn’t that, I told him. I knew that she loved me, and I understood the gifts she had given me, the sacrifices she had made to spend her life with me.
“The lies, the worry, your new business plans . . . all that shit will still be there in a few days. So, as your third best man, I demand you let it all go for now.”
I grinned. “Fuck you, Scott. You know my brothers always come first.”
It was rare for Ben to use humor since losing his wife three years earlier. But he was involved with Jessica now, and her fondness for humor and sarcasm was beginning to influence him. It was good to see him lighten up.
He gripped my shoulder and flashed a smile. “Go on, then. Take your bride upstairs.”
As if prompted by Ben’s words, the string quartet started another set, transforming one of Elle’s favorite love songs into an intimate musical ballad.
I put down my empty glass and closed the distance between my wife and me.
Restraining my desire and not hauling her against my body was a difficult undertaking. I needed the rush that pulsed through my blood when we connected, when she became part of me. At the mere thought of touching her, my cock hardened. I resisted, though, straightening my arms at my sides to give her one last opportunity to choose me before I took everything and possessed all of her.
I didn’t touch her, but I couldn’t stop myself from imprisoning her within my space. Her goddamned mesmerizing eyes locked into mine from beneath her long lashes.
“You’re more beautiful than you know,” I said. Christ, how I loved her. “I can’t find the words to tell you what I feel.”
She smiled and used the lapels of my jacket to leverage her body tightly against mine. “There are no words for us. Just know that I love you madly,” she said.
I was gone. Nothing could bring me back from that.
“No words, baby.”
“Let’s get out of here, Will. I’m done with all of this. Take me to bed.”
Ellie
After Will carried me to our master suite, he locked us inside. Flames danced over glowing embers in the fireplace, and candles flickered on the tabletops. Jess and Ben had come in first to light the hearth, deliver the top layer of our wedding cake, and put more champagne on ice.
Our best friends also had decorated a small fir tree. Will and I would share our first Christmas morning in our suite as a couple while everyone else celebrated downstairs. Will had given orders that we weren’t to be disturbed before Christmas dinner was on the table.
Time was precious, and we were rarely blessed with opportunities to spend it alone. This stolen time, these limited number of hours, was all that we would have. We wouldn’t get a honeymoon until after all security issues were resolved satisfactorily in Will’s mind. Neither of us could predict how long that might take. But he’d promised, and he always kept his word. Paris, we’d decided. When the time was right.
A mixture of velvety, dark-crimson English roses and white gardenias infused the air of our suite with their sweet perfumes. Dozens were displayed in vases, and others were arranged on the floor, creating a romantic pathway into our bedroom. I smiled because I knew that the flowers were from Will. That was his thing.
My husband pulled me to his chest and gripped my ass, pressing my stomach forcefully against his arousal. Our eyes met, then our lips, and Will kissed the breath out of me. His kiss was hard, drowning us in desperate passion. It was like the ravenous kiss we shared when we were separated for too long, though we had been together the night before.
He drew back, his hands coming up to cradle my face, his lips tugging on mine in between the words he spoke. “Do you want cake . . . more champagne . . . a hot bath?”
“I want you. Only you,” I whispered.
His handsome smirk set off a wave of pleasure in me that flowed from my heart to the sensual place low in my abdomen where I burned for him.
“Well, then, let’s get you out of this dress.”
I pushed on his jacket until it slid from his shoulders and down his arms to the floor, then turned around so he could unfasten the silk buttons at the top of my backside. He released the buttons, and I lifted my arms so that he could find his way to the other closures.
“It’s quite perfect for your arse,” he said of the gown as he revealed my bare behind. I had already slipped out of my panties, which I’d secretly presented to him at the reception. He had held the scant piece of lace fabric inside his hand for a few minutes before stuffing it into his pocket.
Will gathered my hair and placed it over my shoulder, then pressed his erection into the cleft of my ass. His fingers searched beneath my arms for the covered zippers. He pulled each one down slowly. “It’s mine. You are mine.” The warmth of his exhalation and the power of his words hit my neck, causing goose bumps to rise over my skin.
Even warmer were his lips and his tongue as he licked and then sucked on the birthmark imprinted over the wildly pulsing carotid artery in my neck. My breath caught in my throat, and my legs gave way beneath me.
“I waited so long,” he said near my ear, supporting my weight. “But you’ve always been mine.”
Will’s possessive behavior was my drug. The idea was rather sick, really, but nonetheless it was true. His touch was my stimulant and my painkiller. Without words, I demanded that he touch every part of me, demanded that he make me feel everything and nothing. I would sacrifice anything to have it—even my own pride.
“Please, Will,” I begged. “Please, I need—”
“Turn,” he interrupted sharply. “I want to see more of my wife.”
Silk and lace fell to the floor. My bare body trembled. I wasn’t afraid of him, never had been. I was afraid of me with him. He made my heart feel things I had never known, made my body crave things I had never before desired. I turned to face him.
My husband hooked his finger beneath my chin, but his eyes first toured my body before meeting mine, as if he were admiring his winnings. He nodded. “I’ll give you what you need and more. Because, Elle, that’s exactly what I need. To give you everything.”
“I know,” I told him. “Take off your shirt.”
I did know. Will and I loved each other with extraordinary desperation. Some might have said that ours was an unhealthy relationship. But our codependence, if that was what it was, was a shared, consensual behavior—we recognized it and embraced it.
Will’s eyes remained locked into mine while he plucked the cuff links from his sleeves. Then, as he worked the buttons on his shirt, I unfastened his trousers and pushed his underwear down. His heavy erection fell into my hands, and I stroked him. God, he was so big.
His answering growl marked the end of his composed demeanor.
In a
flash, my back hit our bed, and my wrists were restrained in one of his hands. Will’s lightning-filled eyes were again beating into mine, and his breath was heavy against my face. He was on all fours above me, his trousers gone.
“Open,” he commanded, his voice and his massive body shuddering with hunger. I obediently opened my legs, spreading them as wide as possible in the space that he’d given me. “I’ll do many things to you tonight, Elle, but first, I’m going to be inside you. I need to feel you now.”
It was clear that Will was overwhelmed by suppressed emotion. Fear, desire, anger, love—it didn’t matter which were affecting him, he processed them all in the same way, compartmentalizing and repressing until we freed everything in bed. Will needed for us to go to the place where our souls would fully connect so that he could feel what was in his heart and release it.
I lifted my face, raising my mouth to meet his, demanding that he take whatever he needed to recement his broken pieces.
“Me too. Make me feel you,” I said tenderly against his lips.
“I love you,” he whispered back, releasing my wrists.
Tears slipped away from me. He kissed them.
In a deliberate manner, I pulled down my hands from above my head and dragged my fingertips along his neck, his strong shoulders, his broad chest. I was aware of each beautiful scar that marked Will’s body as I passed over them. Injuries he’d suffered for me. Finally, as he lowered himself between my thighs, I wrapped my arms around his torso.
Will’s mouth covered mine, and we shared one breath. It was more than a kiss. It was our confession and our redemption. It was our survival. It was us.
He slid into me, stretching me, ecstasy vibrating in my gut, my bones, my blood, like butterflies flitting about wildly in a glass jar. He pulled out and filled me again with a sharp thrust.
