Merry Misrule

by St. Clair, Ellie

  He knew this was a bad idea. Yet when he had finally moved beyond his own memories — or lack thereof — he had realized just how cold she was and knew he couldn’t leave her there alone.

  So he had done the only thing he could think of — and, to be honest, the only thing he had wanted to do since he first saw her underneath the mistletoe in the library — and took her in his arms.

  He couldn’t see her face, had no idea what she was thinking.

  But if the tension he sensed, the longing he felt, was in any way reciprocated by her, he needed to know. For this wasn’t close enough. This wasn’t cozy enough. It wasn’t concupiscent enough. The only thing that would be was her skin upon his, her lips captured in his, her body beneath his.

  Not something that one easily told a woman — and he wasn’t exactly suave.

  “Joanna?” he asked, hearing the huskiness in his voice as he tried to hide just how full he was of need — need for her. “Is this…” he cleared his throat, “is this helping?”

  “Somewhat,” she whispered. “Perhaps…” she hid her face in his shirt, “perhaps it would be better if we were… closer. Without a layer between us.”

  She lifted her face up to him now, and he saw the wanting in her eyes that matched his own, along with a vulnerability there, and he realized how much it must have cost her to ask him for this — how much she worried that he might reject her.

  She should have no fear of that.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded, her eyes meeting his, now full of a simmering passion that he hadn’t even been aware was lurking there, under the surface. “Skin to skin is the best way to warm one another up,” he said, his lips curling at the thought.

  “I’ve heard that before as well,” she murmured, and then slowly began to extricate herself from the layers of blankets around her.

  He helped her with her pelisse and her outer gown, although he didn’t want to completely strip her until he could be there to replace the layers of fabric.

  He would do a better job than them at keeping her warm, he vowed, as he removed his jacket, his waistcoat, his shirt.

  He pulled her to him then, holding her close as he reached his arms around her and began to unlace her stays, his chin tucked over the back of her shoulder so that he could see what he was doing.

  When she was clad only in her chemise, he pulled her forward into the notch between his legs, where she fit just perfectly, and a bead of sweat broke out on his brow as he summoned all of his control to take this slowly. His arms came around behind her, cupping her bottom as he held her close.

  “Better?” he murmured in her ear.

  “Yes,” she said, a hitch in her voice, one that made him smile. She wanted him just as much as he did her. “I don’t think I am quite warm enough, however.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she said, leaning back slightly and lifting her arms overhead. He accepted her invitation, reaching down and finding the hem of her chemise before lifting it overhead. He stopped then, unable to do anything more then to sit back and stare at the woman in front of him.

  Joanna, stripped of any clothing, any ornament, any pretense.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, and she smiled hesitantly.

  “Thank you,” she said tremulously, and as he pulled her toward him, she reached down and began unfastening his breeches, and he thought he might lose his breath altogether.

  She seemed expert at it, and for a moment he wondered why until he remembered her profession.

  When she had finished her task, she stopped suddenly, as though entirely unsure of what to do next.

  That, he could help her with. He stood and shucked his breeches, standing proud before her, and he grinned when her mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Is this a joke?” she practically whispered, and he laughed as he shook his head and returned to his knees before her.

  “It will be fine,” he promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  He interlaced his fingers with hers for a moment, before trailing the tips of them up the inside of her wrist, her forearm, then over her shoulders until he reached her neck. He lifted her hair to the side, trailing kisses over the long expanse of skin, and she moaned so quietly he nearly didn’t hear it.

  Unable to take it any longer, he wrapped one arm underneath her knees, the other around her shoulders, and then lifted her and lay her gently on the bed beside them. He reached back to the floor for a blanket, then billowed it behind him and lay back above her on the bed, the blanket covering them together, and he dearly hoped that his heat was enough for both of them.

  “Are you warming at all, love?” he asked, and her eyes widened at the endearment he hadn’t even realized he had used, but she swallowed and nodded.

  “I am certainly much warmer than I was before you arrived,” she said before her lips curled impishly.

  “Let me make you burn,” he said, and she nodded, although she seemed slightly nervous, as though she didn’t know entirely what to expect.

  “Eli?”

  “Yes?” He lifted his head from where he was just about to explore her breasts.

  “Will you show me what to do?”

  His heart nearly stopped at her request. “Absolutely. The first thing you need to do, however, is just relax.”

  He then began his exploration, beginning with her neck, then down her collarbone to where her breasts began to blossom. He took one nipple in his mouth, first slowly surrounding it with his tongue until he gave it one quick pull. He paid attention to the other before making his way down her stomach.

  He skipped over where she was beginning to arch toward him, tracing his hands down her legs instead. His mouth followed, as he kissed every part of her like he would never have this opportunity again.

  Except that he now vowed this would not be the last time. She knew the worst of him. She knew what an ass he could be, she knew what faculties he lacked, and still she seemed to want him anyway. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

  He began to return upward, and suddenly she stilled underneath him when he neared the juncture of her thighs.

  “What are you… you’re not… that is—”

  “Stop thinking, Joanna,” he scolded, although without any malice. “Just enjoy.”

  When he brought his lips to the very center of her, she jerked, her hands in his hair, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to lift him up or keep him there — she likely didn’t know herself. He pulled back for a moment, leaving her, testing and teasing her in the same breath.

  She didn’t seem to appreciate it overly much.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, and he chuckled, returning to his caresses until she was moving against him, and he could tell she was nearing her release. He lifted his head, and she scowled down toward him, making him laugh. She was more temptress than she likely even realized.

  He replaced his mouth with his hand, slowly sliding one finger inside of her, loving how ready she was for him and his exploration. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, as he began to thrust in and out as he rubbed his thumb over where his mouth had been.

  One hand fisted into the blankets at her side, the other gripped his shoulder, until he felt her begin to pulsate around his finger as she cried out his name. When she had finished, he captured her hips between his hands as he moved between her legs, on top of her.

  She was no longer cold, her thighs tight and warm around him. He was right there, so close, but he needed to make sure this was what she wanted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, arching her hips to meet his, and he groaned as he could no longer hold himself back from her. He rocked his hips in one last question, holding her green-eyed gaze as he slowly slid into her, both of them silent, captured in wonderment of one another.

  Until she winced, and he stilled. He leaned down, kissing her forehead, her temple, her cheekbones, then her lips.

  “Relax around me, love.”


  She nodded, and while she still seemed slightly hesitant, he tested pushing a little bit further. He was barely within, and it was killing him to still and slow, but he didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to scare her.

  He already knew, however, that this would be unlike anything he had ever felt before.

  Elijah could hear his own breath, intermingled with Joanna’s, hard and fast, as his heart pumped vigorously inside his chest. How he had managed to hang on for so long already — through her own climax, through her open wanting of him — he had no idea, but even now, staring down at her, her cheeks hot and flushed, clearly no longer cold, he could just barely manage to keep hold of his control.

  She wanted him. She had chosen him. Elijah. A man who had always come second — or third.

  He pulled out slightly, then pushed back, a bit deeper. He did so again and again, going a tiny bit farther each time, as he continue to kiss her everywhere he could access — her neck, her shoulder, her cheeks, her lips.

  He began to kiss her again, until he finally buried himself inside her as far as he could go, kissing her thoroughly now, drinking in her gasp, as he began to move in time with the love play of his mouth.

  He had never known anything so sweet, so perfect, so right.

  She was his. Now and forever.

  He would make sure of it.

  * * *

  Joanna was both amazed and in utter disbelief. He was with her. Inside her. Performing the act of love she knew was entirely possible but had never imagined could be so amazing. Astonishing. All-encompassing.

  Any pain she had felt began to ebb away as he continued to gently move back and forth within her, and her hands couldn’t seem to help themselves as they wandered all over his tight muscles. He was so masculine, so hard, so unyielding, and she wanted all of him, more of him, as his muscles tensed beneath her.

  Every time he moved, an exquisite tingle of pleasure traveled up through her, and she looked forward to it with every thrust.

  Slowly that same feeling that he had summoned forth but minutes ago — she could hardly believe that it had even happened — began to build once more, a slow burn at first, until it began to steadily increase.

  Now she understood why Caroline couldn’t keep herself from Thatcher, why she wanted this with him for the rest of her life. It was both absolute pleasure and yet torture in the same breath. She arched upwards, meeting him now, as he began to move faster and faster. His gaze was wild, his jaw clenched tightly, and she could tell that he was doing all he could to maintain control.

  He was all she knew, all she wanted, all she never wanted to give up.

  She loved him.

  She loved this man, who had tormented her, who she had avoided at all costs. Who had moved through war, through pain, to become a better man, one who still held onto that mischievous streak that made him who he was, and yet who now better understood how to keep from hurting another.

  But did he — could he — love her in return? She had no idea, and it was what kept her from saying it aloud.

  He had disdained his sister’s attachment to a footman — was this a bit of Christmas fun for him, or did it mean more?

  Her heart ached as his heat encompassed her, chasing away any cold that remained. He lifted her legs up from behind the knees to surround his hips and she gasped at how deeply he rocked into her now, their fit so perfect, their rhythm so well timed.

  He kissed her again as his thumb found her bud once more and without warning the explosion returned, taking away all of her senses, replacing every thought and every emotion with its intensity. As her body moved against him of its own volition, no longer in time to his movements, he lost his control, banging into her hard, again and again in a frenzy until at last, they both stilled, the only sound remaining their breath, hard and together as they lay there, wrapped in one another’s embrace.

  “Joanna,” he murmured into her neck, where his head was buried. She could but grip him, holding him there, against her, not wanting to let go for fear that this might be the last time she would have him in her arms.

  For when they returned to Briercrest — and return they would — what then? With the house as full as it was, she could hardly spend each night in his arms. Then it would be back to London, to the reality that was her life, bent over her needle and thread, creating dresses for other women to wear, women who occupied the same set as Elijah did. Where would he be? What would he do?

  She didn’t know, but didn’t want to ask for fear of shattering the moment.

  The pace of their breathing finally slowing, he rolled to the side, pulling her in close to him, her chest against his as one strong arm came about her possessively.

  Her body was on fire now, and she could hardly imagine how she could have been as cold as she was just moments ago.

  She tried to enjoy the moment — truly she did. But her thoughts were wild, and she couldn’t help but ask, “What do we do now?”

  “Now?” he asked, then looked at her mischievously, his brown eyes glinting.

  “Now we sleep for a while. Then we wake up and do it again.”

  “Again?” she squeaked.

  He nodded. “It seems to me that our greatest gift this Christmas is this time together alone.” He chuckled. “And we have Caroline to thank for it, it would seem. Now,” he said and kissed her forehead, “get some sleep. I’ll keep you warm.”

  Her questions could wait until the morning, Joanna finally realized. This felt too right. Too peaceful. She snuggled her chin into his chest and fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 19

  Elijah inched out of the bed the next morning, standing and stretching his arms and legs, bending over to unkink his back.

  It was not the world’s most comfortable bed, but he had no care whatsoever for how it felt — it had served its purpose and provided him the best night of his life.

  He located his clothes, tossed around the bed and the floor, and he dressed as quietly as he could so as not to wake Joanna. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful lying there, her hair fanned behind her on the pillow, one hand out on the bed beside her, where it had previously been upon his chest.

  He would have dearly liked to remain with her, but he had missed dinner the previous evening and was starving, and he knew she likely would be too. He wanted nothing more than to have breakfast with her, but they could hardly go together downstairs. He would descend himself, ask for a tray of food, then return with it. He would be gone but a few short minutes, and was sure that she would still be sleeping when he returned.

  He slipped out and down the stairs to find that the dining room was nearly full, but rather subdued. He sat down at a table and lifted a hand when he saw the innkeeper look his way.

  The man ambled over to him, asking him how he could help him. As Elijah began to request a simple breakfast and some pastries, the man’s wife walked up to him, whispering lowly in his ear. The innkeeper frowned, ignoring Elijah, who finally leaned forward and held up a hand.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You haven’t heard?” the innkeeper said, looking up at him in surprise.

  “No,” Elijah said impatiently. “I just came downstairs — how would I have heard anything of note?”

  “Of course,” the innkeeper muttered. “There’s been an accident just outside of town early this morning. The stagecoach overturned. My wife tells me now that it seems a few people were injured.”

  Elijah’s heart stopped. “The stagecoach?”

  “Yes,” the innkeeper said. “It was near empty, but from what I’m told there is concern regarding a young woman. We just heard of it. They are all still there.”

  Elijah didn’t stop to hear anymore. All he could think of was that his sister was on that coach. He pushed back his chair, grateful that he had brought his cloak with him. He threw it over his shoulders and was nearing the door when it burst open, and a bedraggled, nearly crazed Thatcher stumbled in.

  “Thatcher!” Elijah gasped
, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him, likely much harder than was due. “What happened? Where’s Caroline?”

  “She’s in the carriage still,” he said, his eyes looking around him wildly. “We need a physician. I didn’t know where to find one, so I came here. It’s the only building I knew. We stayed the night, then left early this morning. Knew you were here…”

  He didn’t seem to have any control of his emotions nor his words, and Elijah realized that he had likely been so shocked from the incident that he had lost any sense.

  “Will you come? Will you help me?” he asked, his focus finding Elijah once more. “There are people there, but—”

  “Of course,” Elijah said with a firm nod. “Of course.”

  He looked back, finding the entire dining room was staring at them.

  “Find the physician!” he shouted to the innkeeper, and then followed Thatcher out the door. “Let’s go,” he said as they stepped out into the snow, only to find a familiar figure coming up the path.

  “Alex!” he called out to his brother, who approached, looking as weary as Elijah himself had felt yesterday. “Did you hear what happened?”

  “About the stagecoach?” he asked with a shrug. “What of it?”

  “Caroline is in it,” he said, “we’re going to her now.”

  Alex finally seemed to register Thatcher’s presence. “I’m coming,” he said, immediately returning back the way he had come, but he looked so cold that Elijah knew he would be no help whatsoever.

  “Go warm up. I’ll go with Thatcher,” he said, nodding toward the inn as a niggling thought invaded the back of his mind. He was forgetting something, but what?

  Suddenly a flood of memories came rushing back from the night before, along with a sense of guilt over having completely forgotten.

  “Joanna,” he said, surprising both his brother and Thatcher. “Joanna is still at the inn. Sleeping.”

  Alex’s eyebrows raised as though he wondered just how Elijah was aware of what she was currently doing, but he didn’t remark upon it.