She wanted to hold the little boy who’d lost his mother and father and everyone and everything that had meant home to him. The boy who’d had to live here in a dark, gloomy house with his dark, gloomy uncle. The young man who’d fled to London and the harsh, soulless ton.
And now this man, who had been kind and gentle to her and was, she thought, deeply lonely. In need of a partner.
In need of her.
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body comfort her, and surrendered to the truth.
She recognized Nick’s pain because she felt the same ache. There was a hole in her life where her family had been. She’d plastered over it with work—getting the brewhouse running, perfecting Widow’s Brew, training her assistants, selling the ale to more and more taverns, tracking expenses and income, even dreaming—against Jo’s and Pen’s advice—of getting into the London market. It wasn’t until she’d been stranded here, far from the Home and her work, that the plaster had cracked and she’d seen the emptiness beneath it.
And it wasn’t just her family that she’d lost. When she’d left Dervington’s house, she’d left the hopes and, yes, the dreams she’d had as a girl behind. She’d gone to London with a hazy idea that she would find love, marry, have children, run her own household. Instead she’d made a terrible choice and had, she thought, ruined her life.
She hadn’t. She’d survived—flourished even—and had built a new life. But now. . . .
She’d let all the talk downstairs—and the jokes—overwhelm her. She’d felt cornered. Pushed into a role she hadn’t asked for. Pushed to give up the satisfying, independent life she’d made for herself.
But Nick wasn’t pushing her. He was asking her. Offering her the opportunity to have something she’d forgotten she’d wanted.
Yes, it might make more sense for Viscount Oakland to marry a young, well-bred, pure-as-the-driven-snow girl, but this Viscount Oakland needed an older, not-so-pure, sensible brewer to help him manage his estate. A woman who knew what loss felt like, who could understand his pain.
Someone who loved him like she loved him, not for his title, but for himself. Who loved Nick, not Lord Oakland.
He loosened his hold on her enough that he could look into her eyes. “Marry me, Caro. Please? I love you. I’ll admit I don’t have much experience with love, at least recently. But I did have eleven years of love with my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. I’ve seen love—I just took it for granted before.”
His words tumbled out—he wasn’t giving her time to answer.
“You might like being a viscountess. There is plenty for you to do here. I need help with the estate—I admit that. I’ve been a terrible landowner. I turned my back on my responsibilities. I refused to deal with my uncle, to learn anything from him or from Pearson. But I mean to do better now. Will do better.” His lips smiled, but his eyes were anxious. “We could see about reopening the brewhouse, if you like.”
That made her laugh. “Well, then, of course I’ll marry you.”
Nick looked hopeful, but not entirely convinced. “You will? You mean it?”
The last shadows, the last lingering wisps of doubt from her time in London, dissipated like mist before the morning sun. She grinned. She hadn’t felt this light—this young—in thirteen years.
“Yes, I mean it. I love you, too, Nick. I . . .” Emotion welled up, clogging her throat. She swallowed, struggling to regain her composure. She would say this—had to say it.
“I wasn’t looking for love—I’m not sure I believed in it anymore. I certainly wasn’t looking for marriage. Two days ago, I would have laughed had you said I’d be standing here with you now, telling you that I love you and, yes, I’ll marry you.”
Nick grinned, his face bright with happiness, but he didn’t interrupt her.
“I thought I was happy with my life at the Home.” She shrugged. “And maybe I was, then. But now . . .” She smiled. “Now I want more. I want you, Nick, and, God willing, children someday.”
He let out a long, relieved breath and hugged her tightly. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would have done had you said no, Caro.”
She suddenly felt a bit daring—or maybe it was, ah, cocksure. . . .
She pushed on his chest so he loosened his hold on her. She looked up at him. “So, what are you going to do now?”
His expression froze for a second, and then his eyes lit up and he grinned. “Well, there is a bed, a very comfortable bed, quite close by. We could plight our troth in a carnal manner, if you would like.”
Nerves twisted in her stomach....
No, this would be good. It would put to rest finally and completely the bad memory of her encounters with Dervington.
“I would like—very much.”
“Splendid!” He pulled the first pin from her hair.
His fingers felt wonderful.
“Think of last night,” he said as he moved on to untie her tapes. “Remember how you felt.” He brushed a kiss on her temple, and she felt his lips pull into a grin. “How you screamed my name.”
She laughed at the reminder of how she’d lost that wager—and her body hummed with expectation.
The hum grew louder as her dress and stays and shift dropped to the floor. She didn’t even care that her clothes would likely be wrinkled—her focus was on other matters entirely.
Nick has too many clothes on . . . And I have two hands and ten fingers.
Nick wasn’t doing something to her—they were doing this together.
She started to untie his cravat.
His clothing was more difficult than hers to remove—or maybe it was just that she’d had no practice. She managed to get his cravat off without strangling him, but his well-tailored coat defeated her.
He started to laugh.
She growled with frustration. “If I’m to be naked, you must be, too.”
He grinned. “Of course. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Then he stepped back, struggled out of his coat, and quickly shed his shoes and stockings and breeches before pulling his shirt up over his head.
He was splendidly, gloriously naked from his broad shoulders and muscled chest to his flat stomach and . . .
Oh, my!
His cock was pointing at her, thick and long and eager.
Her stomach shivered, but with anticipation, not dread. She wanted to feel him against her, feel the friction of his skin on hers again, like yesterday.
And feel him in me?
Her stomach shivered with nerves this time, but she still knew her answer.
Yes.
She loved Nick. Even if that part was uncomfortable, it would be worth the discomfort to be close to him. And she knew he would make the rest of it good.
It had been very, very good yesterday.
She wanted to feel his touch again, to feel the tension grow until she couldn’t bear it any longer—and then to have it explode through her in waves of pleasure.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said. He took her hand. “We’ll go slowly. You’ll see. It will be even better than yesterday.”
In the end, they did not go slowly. Once Nick’s clever mouth and fingers touched her skin, her need became an inferno, turning to ash any lingering threads of worry.
“You’re beautiful,” Nick said. “Beautiful and strong.” His lips skimmed her cheek, touched her collarbone. Her nipples tightened into hard peaks, waiting for—
Ah! His mouth. His fingers.
Now the place between her legs throbbed. “Nick.”
His mouth moved down over her ribs, her stomach.
“Nick. Nick.” She was mewling, begging, desperate. “Nick.”
His tongue traced her opening. Stroked. Teased.
“N-Nick. Ohh. Nick!” Her hips wanted to dance and twist, but he held them still.
She felt his finger slide a little way inside her as he kissed her inner thigh.
“You’re so wet. So ready. Shall I come in now?”
<
br /> “Yes.” She wanted Nick close, as close as it was possible for two people to be. “Yes.” She tugged on his shoulders. “Yes.”
He rose up over her. He didn’t press her down into the mattress with his weight the way Dervington had; no, he kept his body away from hers, balanced on his arms, except for his tip at her entrance. And then he pushed in slowly. Carefully.
Oh! There was no pain. Just pleasure.
He slid deeper and deeper, stretching her, filling her, connecting her to him. Deeper and deeper until he couldn’t go any farther.
She loved it. She loved him. Raw emotion welled up in her, so intense it spilled over in tears.
Nick stopped. “Caro.” His voice was tight with concern. “Are you all right?”
She was too overwhelmed to do more than whisper, “Yes.” And then she reached up and wrapped her arms around him. “Yes. I love you, Nick.”
“And I love you, Caro,” he said. “With my whole heart. My soul. My body. My life.”
Then he moved again. In. Out. In. Each stroke wound her tighter and tighter and tighter.
She felt her release coming. She tightened her grip on him. She needed to hold on to Nick or she would shatter—
“Ohh!”
She did shatter just as she had the night before, but this time was better, because Nick was there with her. In her. Anchoring her.
And then she felt, deep, deep inside her, by her womb, the warm pulse of his seed.
Ohh! Unlike the time with Dervington, she hoped Nick’s seed took root and gave her—gave them—a child.
He collapsed onto her then, and she hugged him close. His weight made it hard to breathe, but she just took shallower breaths, savoring his heat, his closeness, the feeling of being surrounded by him.
She wished he would never leave her.
He did leave, of course.
“I’m too heavy,” he said.
“No.”
But he’d already moved, sliding out of her, taking away his warmth, leaving her empty and sweaty and chilled. Alone . . .
But not for long. He stretched out next to her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close as he pulled the coverlet up over them.
She rested her head on his chest and listened to the steady, strong beat of his heart. She felt so close to him and so happy she thought she might cry again, and she was not—had never been—a watering pot.
She turned her face slightly to press a kiss on Nick’s chest.
He hugged her even closer, his hand stroking her back. “I’ll get a special license as soon as the snow clears.”
“Mmm.”
“Though I hope you won’t make me wait until our vows are said to do this again.”
“Mmm.” She slid her hand down his body to cup his now-soft, relaxed cock. It stirred. “No waiting.”
He laughed. “Zeus, Caro, there has to be some waiting.” He kissed the top of her head and plucked her fingers away from his sleepy cock. “Have mercy.”
She looked up at him. “How long do I have to wait?”
He grinned. “Insatiable, are you? I think I like that in a wife.” A small frown creased his brow. “Are you certain you won’t mind giving up your position as brewer?”
Would she? Two days ago—perhaps even as recently as yesterday morning—she’d have been unable to even imagine leaving the business she’d worked so hard to build, for which she had such high hopes.
But now? The choice was easy. Jo needed her, yes, but she wasn’t irreplaceable. She was sending Jo Fanny and Polly. And Albert and Bathsheba and Esther had helped her with the brewing for years. They were very capable.
Well, to be brutally honest, they might be just as happy not to have her keeping such a tight hold on the reins.
“Yes.” She grinned. “And you did say we might open the brewhouse here, didn’t you? So, I’d not be giving up brewing—just changing, er, establishments.”
He laughed. “Ah, I see how it is. All you want is my body and my brewhouse.”
She knew he was teasing, but she didn’t want there to be any doubt about her feelings. “And you, Nick. I want you. I need you. I hadn’t realized how lonely I was until you showed me.” She smiled. “I guess I should thank Archie and Oliver. If they hadn’t sent the coach into that ditch, I’d be back at the Home now. But I wouldn’t be home.”
“Home.” Nick’s voice wavered on the word and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were full of . . . yearning and a little damp. “I want a home with you, Caro. A home like I had in Italy. A happy, warm, laughter-filled place with children, if we are so blessed.”
His lips twisted. “And I suppose I should thank Archie and Oliver, too, though I’m fairly certain I can’t bring myself to do so, at least in so many words.” He grinned. “But I would say this is definitely a Christmas miracle.”
His eyes darkened. “And if you’ll forgive me for skating very close to blasphemy, I believe another miracle has occurred.”
“What? Oh.” She laughed and looked down to see his cock had risen and looked eager to do again what it had just done. “Yes, indeed.”
And then Caro pressed a kiss to Nick’s chest, offering a silent prayer for yet another Christmas miracle more in keeping with the season—that a new life might grow from the seed planted tonight—before all her attention was taken up with far more earthly matters.
About the Author
A native of Washington, DC, SALLY MACKENZIE still lives in suburban Maryland with her transplanted upstate New Yorker husband. She’s written federal regulations, school newsletters, auction programs, class plays, and swim league guidance, but it wasn’t until the first of her four sons headed off to college that she tried her hand at romance. She can be reached by email at [email protected] or by snail mail at PO Box 10466, Rockville, MD 20849.
Please visit her home in cyberspace at
www.sallymackenzie.net.
WHAT ALES THE EARL
Scandal does not define the “fallen” ladies of Puddledon Manor’s Benevolent Home. Instead, it’s a recipe for an intoxicating new future as the women combine their talents—to operate their own brewery and alehouse . . .
When Penelope Barnes arrived at the Home with her young daughter, she discovered a knack for horticulture—and for cultivating the hops needed to produce a superlative pint. She put her scandalous affair with Harry Graham firmly in the past, along with the wrenching pain she felt when he went off to war. After all, she’d always known a farmer’s daughter had no future with an earl’s son. Now she has the pleasant memory of their passion, and she has little Harriet, for whom she would do anything—even marry a boring country vicar . . .
Harry went off to fight for the Crown unaware that his delightful interlude with his childhood friend had permanent consequences. Now he’s back in England, catapulted into the title by his brother’s untimely death. He sorely misses his former life of unfettered adventure, so when he has reason to explore Little Puddledon, he jumps at the chance. But what he finds there is something—and someone—he never knew he’d lost, and a once-forbidden love whose time has come, if only he can persuade Pen he’s home to stay . . .
IN THE SPINSTER’S BED
At Spinster House, a woman can enjoy the spoils of single life—or find the love of a lifetime . . .
It has been twenty years since Lord William Wattles laid eyes on Annabelle Frost. Still, he remembers everything—her ethereal beauty, her bookish intelligence, her surprisingly modern attitudes about love . . . and lust. But Belle’s allegedly wanton behavior led her father to send her away to save the family’s reputation. Now she resides at Spinster House in the village of Loves Bridge, where an unmarried lady can live—and in Belle’s case, support herself as a librarian—in peace . . .
Beautiful, passionate Belle—sworn off marriage? William can’t believe the woman he once knew could end up like this. But when the hands of fate bring him to Loves Bridge, his long-lost love might just end up back in his arms
. Is their unwavering desire worth the sweeping scandal that is sure to follow them both? Absolutely.
WHAT TO DO WITH A DUKE
Welcome to the charming, fatefully named village of Loves Bridge, where a woman destined for spinsterhood can live a life of her own choosing—or fall unexpectedly, madly in love . . .
Miss Isabelle Catherine Hutting would rather be lounging in the library than circling the ballroom in search of a husband any day. So when Cat hears that the town’s infamous Spinster House is open for a new resident, she jumps at the chance to put all this marriage business behind her. But first she must make arrangements with her prospective landlord, Marcus, the Duke of Hart—the most handsome man she’s ever seen, and the only man who’s ever impressed her in the least . . .
With her wit, independent spirit, and not least of all her beauty, Marcus can’t help but be stirred by Cat. It’s terribly unfortunate he’s not looking to marry, given the centuries-old curse that left his family with the Spinster House to begin with. No duke shall live to see his heir’s birth. But is there a chance the curse could be broken—in true fairy-tale fashion—by an act of true love? The race to Happily Ever After is about to begin . . .
HOW TO MANAGE A MARQUESS
In USA Today bestselling author Sally MacKenzie’s charming Spinster House series, love is always a welcome guest ...
Two possible futures loom before Miss Anne Davenport. The first option: sharing an unhappy home with her father and soon-to-be stepmother. The second: a life of independence at the Spinster House—if only her friend, Cat, would vacate the premises and marry the Duke of Hart. A well-placed whisper about the pair’s secret tryst might speed the course of true love. But the duke’s stubborn cousin poses an obstacle. A ridiculously handsome, very persuasive obstacle . . .
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