Let it Snow

by Suzan Butler, Emily Ryan-Davis, Cari Quinn, Vivienne Westlake, Sadie Haller, Holley Trent

  He saw the flash of an older man with gray hair in his dark beard and hazel eyes. But then it was gone as fast as it came. Who was he?

  When he looked at the clothes, the watch, he saw another man’s things. The only thing that he remembered were the strips of cloth. He could see himself binding his hands, flexing his fingers to get the right level of constriction. In one memory, they were clean and white, in another, spots of blood stained the fabric.

  A cobalt flask was placed into his hands. The cap was gold plated and the body painted with gold leaves. Unscrewing the cap, he took a sniff. Whiskey.

  “Do you remember this one?” Violet leaned forward, watching him expectantly.

  “A flask is a flask. It means nothing to me save that there’s whiskey inside of it.” He hated seeing the look on her face every time Avery retrieved another possession. She wanted him to remember, but his memories were vacant.

  “There is paper and writing implements, dice, a knife, and elsewhere I have your pistols and sword.”

  Before he could ask for the pistols, Violet spoke. “Is there a seal with the writing utensils? Maybe that would give us another clue?”

  The sound of Avery’s hand rummaging through the bag reminded him of the sound of dice rolling in a cup. He missed the sound of cards shuffling and dice rolling across the table.

  God’s teeth, this was hopeless. The only things he remembered were utterly useless. Thus far, all that he gathered from his things was that he liked drinking and gambling and he had the money to do both.

  Violet looked at the seal ring for a moment before handing it to him. There was no crest or initials on the seal. “Hand me the wax,” he ordered. Avery struck a match for him and lit the wick of the wax stick. The liquid poured over the parchment, pooling like blood. Kit pressed the seal down and a ram’s head was revealed.

  He stared at it for a while. As he suspected, his mind conjured nothing but blackness. The image created no memory.

  “This is fucking pointless,” he said and threw the ring across the room. Why couldn’t he remember? Was there a reason he did not want to? He looked at their wide-eyed faces and realized he’d just sworn in polite company.

  They were only trying to help him. “Forgive me,” he said.

  When Avery went to fetch the ring, Violet squeezed his hand. “You can stay here, Kit, for as long as you need to. It does not matter if you remember everything today, next week, or in two years.”

  He returned the squeeze. “Do you mean that, angel?”

  “Yes.” This time, when he looked into her honey colored eyes, they were warm. He could delve into their depths and never come out. Perhaps there was reason to stay a while.

  * * * *

  Kit threw down the peeling and weathered copy of the Canterbury Tales. It was the third book he’d tried today. He’d picked up a volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies and started Hamlet three times, before giving up. He’d gotten through Macbeth, but only because it was dark, bloody, and foul, like his mood.

  It had been ten days since his fever had broken, yet Mrs. Norris and Mr. Avery would not let him venture farther than the chamber pot. Yesterday, he’d bribed Adam, a footman that he played cards and dice with, to sneak him down to the stables, but Mrs. Norris caught him at the foot of the stairs and shooed him back to bed.

  He could do nothing without the servants interference. If he was thirsty, they brought him water. If he was cold, they sent one of the girls in with fleece covers and woolen blankets. If he wanted ale—or God’s blood, the neat burn of whiskey—Avery took care of it.

  What he could not have was fresh air. He could not put on his jacket and trousers and walk downstairs and take breakfast like a man. No, he was confined to this stupid bed. Twice he’d filled the room with feathers in a fit of thrashing pillows, which only caused him to feel like his head was being smashed into pieces.

  The only bright spot in the whole mess was her. His exquisite Violet. One look, one touch, one velvety word from her and he was a tamed puppy dog. She came to him most mornings for breakfast and again for tea and dinner.

  If he didn’t see her several times a day, he would have killed someone. Namely, the insipid doctor who insisted that he stay abed like an invalid.

  His head fucking hurt. Almost every minute of the day. Except when she was here and he was too distracted by the desire to take her into his arms and make love to her. Now, he lived to make her smile, to see her laugh, or for those brief moments of the day when she touched him. He competed against himself for more of her affection.

  Today, she’d only stopped in briefly for breakfast. Instead of an hour, she only lingered about a quarter. He hoped she would come back for tea. Kit could send for her, but then she would assume something was wrong. Well, it was bloody wrong, but he was not a child. He was restless, irritable, and needing something more interesting to do than counting the flowers in the gray wallpaper.

  He paced the room, his loose tunic hanging over his trousers. Though he could not go anywhere, he still sometimes wore his trousers. Being stuck in a night shirt and dressing gown every day reminded him that his only scenery was the large oak bed, an old table that while oiled and polished, had one leg that had been chewed down by some kind of dog, an armoire painted with Oriental leaves, a red and blue Indian rug, and a faded black leather trunk that he could not open. The one thing that changed was the winter sky peeking through the large window. It went from white to silver in the daytime to slate and charcoal in the evening.

  Kit would go mad if he had to spend weeks trapped in here. He’d attempted escape three times, but he never made it farther than the front entrance. If it weren’t for Avery’s hawk eyes watching over him and the disappointment he’d feel at leaving Violet, he would have escaped and crept out in the wee hours before the servants woke.

  But he had no one except Violet. Flashes of memories were coming back to him, but not enough to piece his life together. He remembered his sister’s face, but how would he even go about looking for her? Kit could depart, find a tavern somewhere, go in search of his name, but each time he imagined leaving, Violet’s face appeared in his mind.

  I can go at anytime, he decided. But I do not want to go.

  He stood at the window, watching the clouds sweep across the sky, when he heard footsteps. He turned to see Violet. She wore a white morning dress made from a beautiful satin jacquard—too fine for a day gown, but something that had been repurposed. The yellow leafing on it brought out the green in her hazel eyes.

  “You look lovely.”

  “And you are out of bed.”

  “If you will come and sit with me, then I shall happily return to it.”

  She held out her arm and gestured for him to lie down.

  He hopped to the bed and grinned at her. “Satisfied?”

  “Any fever?” She leaned forward and touched his cheek. He turned toward her hand and kissed it.

  “Only the heat of your skin on mine.”

  Her mouth curved, but she did not give a full smile. “I think you shall recover.”

  “You have checked me every day for the past fortnight. Am I fit enough to leave this room?”

  “Let us see what Doctor Littleton says.”

  “That quack. He would have me abed for months. I am fine.”

  “Your bruises are subsiding, but the gash on your head is not well enough for you to travel. There is still the chance of infection. And what if your memory does not return?”

  Then I will stay here with you. Even confinement with her was better than being at home with Isabella. But he didn’t say the words. To mention Isabella was to admit that his memory was beginning to return.

  “It will.” He leaned toward her. “But in the meantime, let’s go outside. Hell, I would settle for going downstairs. I need some change of scenery.”

  She did not balk at his cursing. It wasn’t the first time he’d been loose-tongued with her and he knew it would not be t
he last.

  “Wait a few days. For now, you should rest as much as possible. Give yourself time to heal.”

  “My lady,” he said, tracing his finger over her cheek, “It is torture to lie still for days on end.” He leaned in closer. “Now, if you were lying with me, it would be a sweet pleasure.”

  Unable to help himself, he leaned in close to her and scented her thick, dark tresses, wishing he could release the pins and lose himself in the silky strands. A woman’s hair should be free and untamed like the sea.

  Her breath caught and he threaded his hands through her hair, keeping her close to him. His lips brushed against her neck and he could feel the pounding of her heart.

  Every ragged sound she made fueled his desire. This was why he obeyed her orders, why he stayed longer than he should. It was the promise of the passion he knew they could find together.

  She was nothing like the artful women who usually shared his bed, but nor was she the naive coquette attempting to seduce him into a betrothal. Violet Laurens was something new.

  Something danced at the corner of his mind—some memory, but trying to grasp it was as futile as grabbing a fistful of sand.

  This alluring woman was far more tempting. At this moment, she was all that mattered to him. Her voice, her touch, her glance the only world he needed to know.

  Loosening his fingers, he eased apart, but only so far that her nose was finger’s length from his. “I think you should close the door.”

  She threw a glance at door then watched him with eyes that went from amber to olive. “Why?”

  “Because I am going to touch you.”

  “You are already touching me.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “I have barely begun.”

  She shivered in his embrace and he watched in fascination as her tongue swept over her lips and she rubbed them together.

  “We should not do this.”

  “Why not? You have no husband. I have no wife. No one will know.”

  The corner of her mouth quirked and she shot him a pointed look. “The servants know everything.”

  “True, but are they discreet?”

  “I trust Avery with my life. And Mrs. Norris would hang the others by their hair if they so much as looked askance at me.”

  “Then the question is, madam, do you want me to touch you?”

  She tilted her head and stared at him as if she could discern the mysteries of heaven in his gaze.

  Her fingers played with the cord on the neckline of his linen tunic. “I should say no.”

  Kit smiled, then slipped a finger under her chin, bringing their mouths close together. “Then that means yes.”

  “We do not know one another. And you are not fit to exert yourself. You should be resting.” When her legs shifted as if to stand, he gripped her thighs. The smooth satin felt soft under his palms, but it could never feel as good as the skin he longed to caress.

  “Who said anything about exerting myself?” There were many ways to take pleasure from her body. He intended on learning each and every one.

  “It is improper. I cannot take advantage of you.” She pushed off him and he was rewarded with a fine glimpse of her décolletage as she stood.

  His mouth watered, but he made himself look her in the eyes.

  “I thought I was the one taking advantage of you, my sweet.”

  “You are in my house, my bed—well, my guest bed. You are injured, possibly addled in the head—”

  He crossed his arms and gave her a hard stare. “I would have to be addled in the head to be in your house, in your bed, and not to want you. I may be temporarily bound, but do I look like a simpleton?”

  She turned and walked to the door. He smiled when he heard the creak as it closed and clicked into place. Victory was at hand.

  “You look like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,”

  “And you look delicious and delectable. How could I—voracious animal that I am—resist?”

  “We hardly know one another,” she said again.

  “I have every intention of getting to know you,” he replied, giving her a slow, thorough once-over. He threw off the blankets and put his feet on the cool wood floor. Though his leg wobbled a bit as he stood, he ignored it—along with the splitting pain in his head.

  “No!” she cried, rushing over to him. “You must not move from bed. The doctor was clear that you should only move when absolutely necessary. I will not have you taking ill again.”

  The fire in her voice rippled over him and instead of deterring him, it made him want more.

  He gripped her waist and lifted her to him. They were nose to nose again. “I will get back into bed—if you will join me in it.”

  “I should slap you for your impertinence.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. “Go ahead and try.”

  “Put me down!”

  “Kiss me and I will release you. For now.”

  “You are the most obstinate, arrogant man I have ever encountered.”

  “I am determined, my lady. I do whatever I have to do to get what I want.” He nibbled on her bottom lip, but did not give her the kiss he longed for. “Right now, I want you.”

  She pecked him on the forehead, a light kiss that ended before it ever began. Cool air pressed over that sweet spot where her lips had been. Damnation, she was smart.

  “I take it I did not specify where you should kiss me?”

  When she smiled, everything around her faded into a shadowy haze and he knew nothing but her grace. “No, sir, you did not.”

  He eased her down, letting her body skim down over his until her feet touched the ground. By some miracle, he managed not to groan.

  “Call me Kit.”

  “Get back into the bed, Kit.”

  “And if I refuse?” His hands still gripped her waist. She was tall, which he loved, as it made it easier for him to look her in the eyes. Her frame was strong; if he squeezed, she could take it. And when he bent her over the bed or pulled her down to the floor, she wouldn’t break under his strength.

  She could fulfill every dark fantasy he’d ever dreamed of—and a few he hadn’t even contemplated before.

  “If you refuse, you shall not get the kiss you bargained for.”

  Was she merely teasing him to get his compliance or did she finally intend to give in to his demand? “And if I acquiesce?”

  She leaned into him, her cheek brushing against his, her bosom pressing into his arm. Warm breath fanned over his neck and his cock jerked to attention. Kit froze, not wanting to break the spell. What was she about?

  There was a sharp pain at first when her teeth closed over his earlobe, but it was soon followed by the gentle motions of her tongue. She squeezed the tender flesh between her teeth again, then sucked firmly.

  Kit had to reach down and press on his shaft. It ached, not as much as his head, but hot enough that if he wasn’t careful, he would throw caution to the wind and throw her across the bed and mount her like a raging bull.

  He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her doing wicked things to him. As she worked, he stroked her lower back. It took every ounce of his willpower not to grind into her, to be still and let her have her way with him.

  A breathy whisper tingled across his ear. “Go back to bed.”

  This time, Kit obeyed. He climbed into the sturdy oak bed and waited for Violet.

  She straightened her gown and slowly stepped toward the bed. She bent down and stroked his face, the caress light as a summer breeze.

  “You are a difficult patient. But I do reward obedience.”

  Bending down, she lowered her face to his, stopping when her mouth would have brushed his. She held there for ten seconds as he waited—counting in silence to stop himself from grabbing her neck and pulling her atop of him. This kiss was a gift, a reward, and he would receive it the way she chose to give it.

  At first, the kiss was soft, feathery, as tender an
d warm as she was. But then he heard the little moan she made and he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He slid his palm up her plump derrière, pausing briefly near the juncture of her thighs and then continued upward to her waist. His free hand cupped her jaw, then swept up to thread his fingers tightly though the hair at the base of her neck. She would not get away easily.

  Violet responded with the slow glide of her tongue into his mouth. It was more than he asked for, though not nearly enough to satisfy him.

  He knew he should ease his way with her. She was no courtesan, no easy woman that he could ply with a few choice words or a pretty trinket and then delve between her thighs.

  As much as he wanted to take her, he knew it would be all the sweeter if he took his time. Her body was like a well that needed to be primed before the sweet water could be drawn.

  He was torn between the need to be skin to skin, lips to lips, drowning in pleasure and the desire to protect her and earn her trust. Why it should matter that he earned her affection, he could not fathom.

  Perhaps he merely wanted something to pass the time, to erase the boredom of being confined to this bed and these four walls. He needed a goal, needed a prize to pursue and what greater prize could he win than her?

  Chapter Six

  What was she doing? She should get up and walk away, not stay in bed kissing him. But she’d been wanting to taste him, to feel his mouth on hers for so long.

  And it was not as if they were total strangers. She’d nursed him for almost three weeks. He had not told her his family name yet, but did it matter? She was no innocent girl out in her first Season. If she succumbed to his advances, she knew exactly what she was doing.

  Touching him felt so good. She loved the little moments that allowed her to stroke his face, hold his hand or check the bruises on his chest. Even the ugly gashes on his head were tolerable because they meant that she could be close to him.

  She’d taken so many liberties already, what did it matter if she yielded to him completely? He obviously wanted her and she desired him as she’d not desired a man in years.