An Enchanted Christmas Collection : Regency Romance

by Wendy Vella

  Easing her backward, he exposed her most secret places, but Jemma was beyond caring; she wanted only what this man could make her feel. He found the small tight bud between her thighs and ran his tongue over the tiny bead in slow torturous sweeps, giving her the most intimate kiss of all.

  Jemma had never experienced such torment, each stroke of Leander’s tongue wound her tighter until she feared she would shatter. It was wicked, and delicious. The silken glide of his hair against her thighs, each touch, each sensation had her crying his name. She was totally focused on the man and the feelings he was creating within her. And then he slowly eased his fingers inside her, pushing them high as his tongue licked harder, and Jemma screamed as the tension broke and wave after wave of ecstasy swept over her.

  He regained his feet. Cupping her neck, he tilted her head back and drank from her mouth in a deep searing kiss that she was sure touched every corner of her soul. Her body hummed with awareness once more as he stroked a hand down her spine.

  “I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I do you, Hero.”

  “And I never knew this was possible… to feel what I have.”

  “Then you have been with a fool,” he said before kissing her softly once more. “Your body was created for this, for my touch. You are a passionate woman, Hero.”

  She did not deny his words; it was best for both of them that he believed he was not her first and that she was experienced.

  Changing positions, he sat on the sofa and urged her to straddle his thighs. He opened his legs further, forcing her legs wide, exposing the damp folds between her thighs once more.

  Jemma felt the heat from his eyes run over her body.

  “How is it possible you look even more beautiful now? Your eyes are lit with the heat of passion, skin flushed with dew, and I doubt this one time together will be enough, Hero. Will you take off your mask and let me see you? Let me know the identity of the woman who has me under her spell?”

  “Please, don’t talk that way.” Jemma wanted to do as he asked, but there was no future for them so she could not.

  “This is not the end, my sweet, but only the beginning.”

  She didn’t fight the kiss that followed those words. It was slow and sensual, gently re-awakening her passions. He stroked her breasts and stomach, eased her closer then rubbed the tight bead between her thighs again, re-stoking her still simmering passions.

  “Oh Lord, I feel it again.” Jemma’s body was humming.

  “As do I, sweetheart.”

  His hands gripped her hips and eased her closer until she could feel his arousal at her entrance.

  “Are you sure you want this, Hero?”

  His jaw was clenched, and his eyes glittered passion. That he would ask such a question when clearly he was fiercely aroused made her realize that she was right. He would never hurt her.

  “I want it.”

  She tried not to stiffen, tried not to let him know she was innocent.

  “Hero, are you all right?”

  “Yes. Please do not stop,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Impossible,” he rasped, pushing slowly inside her.

  She felt stretched as her body tried to accommodate him. Fear that he would stop had Jemma arching toward him, and then with a thrust, he was through the barrier of her innocence, and buried deep inside her tight sheath.

  “My God, you’re a virgin!”

  “No, it has merely been a long while since I laid with another.”

  He started to shake his head, but Jemma gripped it, kissing him as she rose, and lowered herself onto his arousal. Swallowing his groan she did so again, ignoring the bite of pain as it mixed with pleasure.

  “Hero,” his whisper was a plea, and then he was driving up as she came down, again and again, until she felt the delicious heat build inside her once more. Soon the sound of their harsh breathing filled the small room.

  Jemma was lifted, and then she was lying on the sofa with Leander’s heavy weight on top of her. Her hands went to his shoulders, holding him close as he continued to thrust into her. Jemma writhed, wrapping her legs around him, urging him on until she could take no more. Her cry was loud, and his deep and guttural as they scaled the summit together to float slowly down the other side. He fell on top of her, rolling to the side as the strength left his body, and Jemma held him tight, never wanting to let him go.

  She stirred as the heat from Leander’s hand swept down her side. He lay facing her, eyes closed, breathing softening. She now knew what people spoke of when they referred to passion and knew her life would never be the same again. It had taken her twenty-four years to realize that passion did exist, and now she had found it she must walk away from the man who had given it to her.

  She would marry Lord Crickley, and every time he lay with her, she would think of her Leander. Jemma felt the sting of tears as she realized that never again would she experience the wealth of emotion that this man had stirred in her this night. Never again would she cry out as he touched her breast with his lips, or stroked the secret places that had made her writhe in ecstasy. Dear God, she was going to disgrace herself by weeping pitifully if she didn’t leave soon.

  “Hero,” he whispered, brushing his lips on her shoulder. “My sweet Hero. You are mine now.”

  Pain lanced through her, but she kept her eyes closed and lay still, just enjoying the last few minutes before she must leave this man’s side forever, enjoying the feel of his large naked body pressed to hers.

  His breathing grew slower and the hand on her hip still, and slowly he slid into sleep. As she felt exhausted herself, Jemma thought it best to move quickly before she followed him. Daring a last touch, she ran her fingers over his lips before she bent to kiss them one last time. Waiting a few more minutes until she was sure he was slumbering deeply, she then moved to the edge of the sofa and then to the floor. Once she was on her feet she looked down at the man who had changed her life, memorizing every detail from his tousled black hair to the soles of his large feet. Her fingers itched to remove the mask, but she did not. It would do her no good if she recognized him, and only make matters harder should they meet again.

  Blowing him a kiss, she quickly dressed. Hurrying to the door, she took the key and opened it, then closing it she locked it once more and slid the key back under. Jemma had no wish for anyone to enter the room with him sleeping and naked. Placing her palm on the door for several seconds, she blew him another kiss and then walked away.

  “Where the bloody hell have you been!”

  Thomas found her the minute she re-entered the ballroom.

  “Have you been searching for me, Thomas?” Jemma made herself look surprised.

  “Yes,” he gritted out. “And you have been missing for a long time, so tell me where you have been and with whom.”

  “It was naughty of me—” She giggled. “—but I was exploring Lord Cavanagh’s home. Did you know that they have twenty rooms just on the bottom floor, if you take in all the hallways? And I glimpsed an orangery, but it was too cold to enter.”

  Jemma held her breath as Thomas’s eyes narrowed.

  “You are lying to me.”

  “No indeed,” she rattled on. “It is a vast building. I have also encountered many interesting guests and yes,” she dropped her eyes, “I did accept a kiss.” Jemma did not betray the despair she felt.

  “You are lying to me, cousin, and I want the name of the man who has upset you, and I want it now.”

  She managed a credible sigh. “Really, Thomas, I am quite all right. The kiss was not as I’d expected, but that is hardly the gentleman’s fault. After all, I am not one who experiences passion, as I believe I have already told you. My disposition does not allow it,” Jemma lied.

  After tonight, she would have to revise many things about her nature.

  Jemma withstood her cousin’s inspection. His eyes narrowed as he ran them over her from top to toe.

  “Who kissed you?” Thomas said, outraged as he focused on her
mouth. “I’ll bloody kill them.”

  “Are you telling me you have not kissed a few fair maidens this night?”

  He looked uncomfortable for about five seconds. “We are not discussing me.”

  Jemma managed a carefree laugh. “I have no wish to discuss this further, only to leave. Now take me home, please, Thomas, my feet hurt.”

  “Very well, but this discussion is not finished.”

  “You’ve said that twice this evening.”

  “Because you do not usually hide things from me, Jemma. But I have a feeling you are, and it worries me.”

  She patted his arm and faked a yawn. “I am weary, Thomas. Please take me home.”

  He had her in her cloak and into his carriage soon after. Thankfully he was silent on the journey, but she felt his eyes on her. Jemma closed hers and pretended to sleep, opening them when he touched her shoulder.

  “Come, sleepyhead, we are home.”

  He escorted her inside and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before releasing her.

  “Sleep well, my sweet.”

  Jemma couldn’t speak, merely squeezed his hand before heading up the stairs to her room. As she closed the door, the first of her tears fell. Her tears were of joy and sadness, and for the memory her Leander had given her. From this day forth she would always know that tonight, in the library at Lord Cavanagh’s, a man had worshiped her.

  Chapter Four

  “I do not want to be disturbed!”

  “Why are you roaring like a bear at such an early hour?”

  The Marquess of Harrington glared at his brother as he entered his study. Tall like him, Phillip had a leaner build and a nicer disposition that tended toward flippancy when his brother was near. He liked to indulge in as many vices as he could, but usually walked just this side of being a complete rake. Harry withstood the questioning look in the Harrington green eyes before lowering his head to reread the page he had started several times.

  “Unlike you, who will simply crawl out of whatever bed you have shared in two weeks and fall into the carriage to slumber the entire journey, I have much to do before we depart for that wretched wedding.”

  “Yes, but that is nothing new, I’ve always been a wastrel,” Phillip said, falling into the seat across Harry’s desk. “This dark look,” he waved a hand about, “is even more intimidating than your usual one. And Brimley said the staff are all running for cover as you have been barking at them for days.”

  Harry pinched the bridge of his nose to give himself time to think. The problem was, closing his eyes brought visions of her. Bloody woman.

  He’d woken three nights ago in Lord Cavanagh’s library to find her gone, and the blood on his thighs confirmed what he had believed. She’d been an innocent. Terrified that she’d already left, he’d dressed, and it had been as he picked up his jacket that he saw the glimmer of gold under the sofa.

  Her bracelet was in his pocket, the one inside his jacket, foolishly, close to his heart. Harry wasn’t sure what the hell had happened in that room yet, but what he did know was that she’d played him for some reason. Lied about her innocence and lured him into taking her virginity. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she smelled, the lilt of her voice and feel of her skin. He wanted her; even through his anger, he understood that. But there was more to this, much more, and he had no idea what that more was, only that he was totally obsessed with finding her and unearthing her secrets.

  Had he hurt her in any way? He didn’t believe so, and when the anger inside him at her duplicity had eased, he’d felt humbled that he had been the first man to know his Hero. On the heels of that thought was another. He wanted no man but he to make love to her.

  How could he feel all this for a woman he knew nothing of? No name, not even the color of her eyes. In that room they had simply been two people intent on pleasure. All barriers had been lowered, and he had never felt closer to another person in his life than he had that night. The harsh light of day, however, had brought reality. He did not know where to start looking for her or how.

  “Harry!”

  “Sorry, what?” He made himself focus on Phillip.

  “Were you daydreaming?”

  “Certainly not.” Harry attempted to look affronted. “When have you ever known me to partake in such a frivolous pastime?”

  “Never, but it certainly looked that way. You had this vague, faraway look in your eyes, and I’m sure I noted a small smile.”

  “Was there a reason for your intrusion into my day, brother, or are you just here to further annoy me?” Harry found his arrogant elder brother tone.

  “Something happened at the Cavanagh ball, I’m quite sure of it,” Phillip said, tenacious as ever. “Your behavior has been odd ever since.”

  “It has not been odd.”

  “Peculiar then.”

  “I think I prefer odd,” Harry drawled. He’d thought about talking to his brother, just asking a few questions, but wasn’t sure where to start without giving too much away.

  “I met someone.”

  Phillip sat up straighter in his chair.

  “Did you, by God!”

  “A woman.” Harry’s necktie suddenly felt extremely tight.

  “Now that is promising.”

  “She… ah, she was lovely.”

  “Very promising.”

  “And I don’t know her name, but I want to.”

  Phillip sat back and steepled his fingers as Harry often did when he was thinking.

  “As women are my particular field of expertise I can help you there. Let’s start with what you do know.”

  “Her hair is the color of honey, golden honey,” Harry said remembering how it had looked in the firelight. “She has a cultured voice and is exquisitely beautiful. She wore a Grecian costume with a gold braid belt, and this is her bracelet.” He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it on the desk between them, his fingers tracing the small horse, the only adornment on the chain. He looked up when his brother did not speak and found his mouth hanging open, eyes wide.

  “What?”

  “Are you in love, Harry?”

  “Certainly not; why would you say such a thing?” Harry’s heart was racing for no accountable reason.

  “You just used words like golden, honey, and exquisitely.”

  “What does that signify?” Harry frowned. Had he used such words? Good Lord.

  “Harry,” Phillip said patiently. “You rarely string together three words, let alone use descriptive ones. Most often you glare when you speak, but just then you had a sweet smile on your face. Therefore, my guess is this woman made something of an impression upon you.”

  She did, but he wasn’t saying that out loud. A lasting impression that he doubted would ever fade. He’d wanted Hero with more desperation than he had ever felt in his life before.

  “I have never smiled sweetly. I merely have her bracelet and want to return it.”

  Phillip just looked at him, but Harry didn’t speak, and just looked back. Phillip broke first.

  “You were always better at that than I.”

  “I have the superior mind.”

  “Harsh, but very possibly true.” Phillip sighed. “Now, back to your woman. Tell me what else you know.”

  “She’s not my anything.”

  “But you want to find her.”

  He conceded with a nod.

  “Tell me more then as I am well acquainted with many women.”

  He tamped down the flash of irrational jealousy. Hero had been a virgin and therefore had lain with no one but him.

  “She could be a woman of loose morals you realize, Harry.”

  “She’s not.”

  “What color eyes has she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Face,” Phillip waved his hand around. “Describe it for me.”

  “I could not see it clearly as she wore a mask.” He refused to wriggle in his seat at the look his brother gave him.

  “You didn’t see her
face clearly, and don’t know what color her eyes are, and yet she made a lasting impression and is apparently, ‘lovely.’”

  When put like that it did sound vague, and yet he could not tell Phillip what he and Hero had shared in that room.

  “I want to find her.”

  His brother gave him a look but said nothing further. Harry then told him what he did know about the elusive Hero.

  His mood had not improved two weeks later. He had sent out staff, hired a private investigator, and Phillip had been searching also, but no one had brought him any news of Hero’s identity, so he climbed into his carriage on a foul, gray, and cold day to travel to his estate, having shut down his townhouse for the winter.

  “Lady Cavanagh will not part with her guest list, Harry, and the staff did not remember the woman, nor anyone answering her description.”

  Harry glared across the carriage at his brother.

  “Someone must know her!”

  “I’m sure they do, but as we don’t know who that someone is, we cannot find her. What’s more, you cannot expect success with so few details. Honey-gold hair and a lovely body wrapped in a Grecian costume could be any number of women who attended!”

  “Don’t snap at me,” Harry snarled. “I have spent most of my adult life dragging you out of trouble, so do not dare to question me on this. I want that woman found!”

  Phillip’s hair was a mess, his necktie looked like it had been tied by a small child, and his jacket was creased.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I visited a few people.” Phillip yawned. “I thought to question as many people as I could about the identity of your woman.”

  Harry felt his anger flee. “I’m sorry, and thank you.”

  “I cannot believe that you just thanked me.”

  “I’ve thanked you upon occasion, it’s just such a rarity you don’t remember.”

  “Possibly you’re right. Now.” Phillip wriggled into the corner of the carriage to get himself comfortable. “Is there anything else you’ve remembered about your goddess?”