His Mistletoe Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  And it was not just any man who kissed her. It was Lucas, and she knew now that she had been waiting for the touch of his lips for a very long time.

  His mouth was gentle, exploring her as if she were a newly discovered landscape. Mentally, she stumbled in that landscape, searching for a way forward and knowing it could only come through him. From the feel of his calloused hands wrapped around her bare arms, his fingers caressing her skin, and from the breathtaking heat of his mouth. Every unique sensation drew her forward, unmooring her from every experience that had come before.

  Who knew a kiss could be so . . . transporting?

  She spread her hands flat on his chest, sinking her fingers into the rich fabric of his waistcoat. Seeking the beat of his heart, she found it, fast and steady under her palms. Her pulse, though, fluttered everywhere throughout her body—behind her breastbone, in her throat and wrists, even behind her knees.

  And as Lucas deepened the kiss, those knees grew dreadfully weak.

  She clutched at him, whimpering under the tender onslaught of his lips. He answered with a deep, masculine rumble as his hands moved from her arms to slide around her back. He splayed them wide, holding her in a firm clasp. It protected her, that embrace, making her feel safe and cherished. In the circle of his arms, with his mouth igniting a slow fire in her blood, Phoebe could almost believe anything was possible. Even that Lucas might love her.

  Her body melted against him. She tipped her head back, searching for more, something deeper, hoping he would know what it was.

  He did, for his tongue came between her closed lips, tracing along the seam. Phoebe jerked in surprise and her mouth opened on a startled gasp. His tongue stroked into her mouth—just for a second—and then retreated with a quick, feathering taste to the corner of her lips. Her eyes snapped open. She stared at him—at his mouth, mere inches from hers and seductive and damp from their kiss—and his gaze, dark and smoky with desire, bored into her.

  The intimacy shook her to the soul.

  “Was that your first kiss, Phoebe?”

  His deep voice whispered through her, doing the strangest things to her body. She had a sudden, shocking urge to rub against him, like a cat who wished to be petted.

  Phoebe found herself very much wishing that Lucas would pet her. “Yes,” she managed to croak.

  That pleased him, if the arrogant smile tugging at his lips was any indication. She decided on the spot that Lucas had the most entrancing mouth she had ever seen.

  “Did you like it?” His husky tone sounded much like a purr, one made by a very big, very wicked cat. She had not imagined a man could make a noise like that, and it seemed to drain all reason from her brain.

  “Um . . . I,” she stuttered. She had liked it. But should a lady even consider admitting that sort of pleasure? It occurred to her that her education was vitally lacking in this very important area.

  He laughed, and she felt an answering vibration at every point where their bodies connected. “Let me rephrase, my sweet. Do you want me to do it again?”

  She frowned. Was this a trick, or a test in some way? Even though she had imagined more than once Lucas kissing her, she had never thought to be required to do more than stand there. That is what women did under the circumstances, or so she had always assumed.

  “Do you want to kiss me again?” she said hesitantly.

  His eyes went heavy-lidded and slumberous. “Actually, I’d very much like it if you would kiss me.

  Her mind stuttered as she tried to read his expression. Desire she saw most clearly, but something else lurked in his gaze, too. Shadows darkened his eyes and she sensed a need in him beyond that of mouth touching mouth, skin touching skin. It seemed Lucas wanted more—a declaration, perhaps. She had already rejected him once tonight and she wondered if he sought proof she would not do it again.

  Carefully, she placed her hands on his shoulders and went up on her tiptoes. Stretching up another inch, she shyly pressed her trembling lips to his firm mouth.

  He froze under her shy touch and for an awkward few seconds Phoebe thought she had done it wrong. Then his lips moved beneath hers and his tongue swept into her mouth, drawing her into a deep, devouring kiss. As she fell against him, hardly able to stand, he took her hands and fastened them around his neck. She clung to him as a bulwark against the sensations spinning through her body. Nothing could have prepared her for the aggressive thrust of his tongue, tasting her with a delicious, intoxicating greed.

  Vibrant emotions stunned her. They shimmered through her mind like bright clouds, overriding caution and modesty, tawdry concerns that crumbled before the power of what he shared with her. She had never experienced anything like Lucas and his kisses—so much warmth engulfing her, making her forget who and where she was.

  At that vague thought, a warning bell sounded faintly in her mind. Her concentration suddenly expanded to include the awareness that they leaned against a door in Lady Framingham’s mansion, just one floor away from a room where hundreds of guests sat down to supper.

  Guests that included Aunt Georgie.

  Her eyes flew open and she started to draw back, but Lucas gently bit her lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. She groaned as something pulled low in her belly, and she collapsed against him.

  He held her close, breathing a husky laugh against her lips before his tongue returned to ravish her mouth. His arms tightened around her shoulders, drawing her up to the very tip of her toes and mashing her against his chest. It should have hurt, he was that muscular and hard. Instead, her nipples contracted with a sharp pleasure, pulling her farther into a spiraling sensation of need.

  Phoebe sighed into his mouth, giving herself over to his ardent demands. Her limbs grew heavy and the place between her legs ached with a pleasurable tension. That ache made her long to do forbidden things, like squirm against him to increase the pressure of his muscled body against hers.

  An instant later she froze in horror with the realization that she was squirming against him. Even worse, a part of him—a very big and hard part—pressed into her belly with a good deal of insistence. And that should have horrified her, too, but instead she felt another bizarre urge to wriggle against it.

  That, she felt sure, would be a very bad thing to do.

  With a soft nuzzle of her mouth, Lucas broke the kiss. His gaze traveled over her face, her neck, her breasts, like a lingering caress.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

  She drew in a shaky breath. The very sound of his voice made her insides quake with longing. When he looked at her like that, she could not seem to process one rational thought. She should come up with a sensible answer, but had no idea what that might be.

  “Do you want to?” she asked.

  He gave a soft laugh. Without answering, he bent and slipped one arm behind her knees, hoisting her up high against his chest. She squeaked out a protest, but he simply dropped a fast, hard kiss on her mouth as he strode across the room to the sofa.

  “Lucas,” she gasped. “I very much enjoy being with you, but we do have a few more things to settle between us. And Aunt G—”

  “Hush,” he murmured. “We’ll go down soon enough. And we can talk in a minute.”

  She eyed him doubtfully as he sank onto the sofa, still cradling her in his arms. Suddenly, he grimaced and reached under her bottom to arrange something. She blushed when she realized what it was. “Ah, I do not think this is a very good idea. I have not even accepted your proposal of marriage. If, that is, you even made a proposal.”

  His eyes flared hot, then he dipped his head to her neck. His tongue flicked out to lick the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck. She jumped, but he held her in place.

  “You know very well that I proposed,” he murmured, kissing her throat. She moaned at the contrast between the smooth feel of his lips and the rasp of his faintly bristled chin.

  “Well . . . I have not yet accepted it,” she managed in a quaking voice.

  She absolutel
y could not think while he nibbled little kisses back down her neck to where it met the junction of her shoulder. Then he nipped her there, and thought fled her brain. Her head, too heavy to hold upright, fell back against his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Phoebe,” he murmured. “I promise everything will be fine.”

  She could only sigh as he kissed and tongued his way over her shoulder to the top of her tiny sleeve. Beneath her, the hard length of his erection nudged her bottom, sending a shivery sort of spasm pulsing between her legs.

  Phoebe gasped, so surprised by the sensation she hardly noticed Lucas nudging down her tiny cap sleeve to completely bare her shoulder. The gauzy bodice sagged low across her breasts, only just covering her nipples. In fact, when she glanced down at herself, she could see them almost peeking out over the top of her lace trimming.

  “Lucas, I do not—”

  His glance flicked back up to her face and he swooped in to give her another one of those quick but devastating kisses. Then he looked back down at her breasts while his fingers skimmed over the top of her bodice.

  “God, Phoebe. You are so beautiful,” he said in a tight voice. “I can’t wait to see all of you.”

  That almost shocked her into silence. Almost.

  “Truly?”

  No man had ever told her she was beautiful, or even pretty—not that Quaker men made a habit of paying fulsome compliments.

  Lucas’s mouth lifted into a wry smile. “Trust me, love. You ravish me.”

  She heard the smile in his voice, and that eased the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

  His gaze remained fixed on her breasts, seemingly entranced as he traced his fingers over her skin. “So white and soft,” he whispered.

  He sounded fascinated, and that drew her with him. Equally entranced, she watched as his index finger pushed below her lace, just brushing against the rosy circle of her nipple. She bit her lip as tingles raced through her flesh and the tip pulled into a tight, aching bead.

  His breath hissed out and he shook his head. “Damnation, woman. You’re going to kill me.”

  Lifting his head, he took her lips in a kiss so encompassing it burned away all but the knowledge of him. She saw, tasted, and breathed only Lucas. Only his touch mattered, only what happened in the circle of his arms held any meaning.

  Which was why, no doubt, Aunt Georgie had to clear her throat three times before Phoebe even registered that she and Lucas were no longer the only people in the room.

  Chapter 15

  A gloomy silence fell over the coach, discouraging any attempt at conversation. Lucas repressed the impulse to growl at everyone and instead studied the dejected slump of Phoebe’s shoulders as she huddled forlornly in the opposite corner. She hadn’t said a word since they left the scene of the crime, and refused to even look at him. That, combined with her obvious distress at being discovered in a compromising position—by her aunt and cousin, no less—set Lucas on the knife’s edge, ready to snap at the first person who dared reprimand her or add to her humiliation in any way.

  Finally, Meredith let out an aggravated sigh. “I swear, Lady Framingham’s house must be cursed. I for one intend to come down with a migraine before I ever set foot in the place again.”

  “Indeed,” Aunt Georgie intoned in a voice of doom. “It would appear that Lady Framingham’s affairs lead to an alarming collapse in the manners of my nieces and nephews.”

  Phoebe retreated farther into her corner, which shredded Lucas’s heart with remorse. Fortunately, Meredith lightened the moment by letting out a surprising burst of laughter. “Well, it was horrible when Silverton and I disgraced ourselves at that ball a few years ago, but everything turned out for the best.” She patted Phoebe’s arm. “Don’t worry, my dear. Aunt Georgie is very adept at deflecting scandal, as is the General. I’m sure people will forget all about it in no time.”

  “I find myself loath to contradict you,” Aunt Georgie said, “but Mrs. Brackett witnessed the entire scene in the ballroom and made a point of searching me out and telling me all about it. Quite loudly, as you will recall.”

  Meredith scrunched up her nose. “I was trying to forget that.”

  “Mrs. Brackett is an old biddy and a terminal gossip,” Lucas growled. “Nobody with an ounce of sense listens to her.”

  “Very true,” Aunt Georgie responded in a sarcastic tone. “But they will listen to Lady Harpwell and Mrs. Cherry, both of whom saw you propel Phoebe into that sitting room. I can’t even imagine what you were thinking when you did that, my boy. Thank God, Meredith and I interrupted you when we did.”

  Lucas clamped down on the retort that sprang to his lips. No matter the provocation, he would not rip up at his aunt, but what she failed to understand was that he would have stopped long before matters progressed to a true state of danger. Phoebe had been so beautiful in her disheveled glory, and so responsive, that he had been hard-pressed not to flip up her skirts and take her on the spot. But he would never treat her so shabbily, and he was perfectly capable of resisting temptation—for her sake, if no other. And he was damned certain he could have spirited her away from the ball with a lot less fuss and commotion than his interfering relatives.

  Phoebe stirred. With a tragic but determined expression, she faced Aunt Georgie. “My dear aunt,” she said quietly, “this was my fault, and I beg your forgiveness for betraying your trust, and for bringing shame onto the family. If you feel it necessary to send me back to America, I will not object.”

  Lucas stared across the small space separating them, stunned she could even suggest it. Phoebe would leave England, and him, over his corpse. “Phoebe, you have nothing to apologize for. There will be no scandal, I assure you. I’ll handle everything.”

  He leaned forward, compelled to touch her, but Aunt Georgie laid a remarkably strong restraining grip on his arm. “Not another word from you, Lucas. I hold you entirely responsible for this debacle, which you can be sure I will communicate to the General as soon as we arrive at Stanton House.”

  Irritated, Lucas tried to stare her down, but she just cocked an imperious eyebrow at him. “Well, that has me trembling in my boots,” he said dryly, settling back into his seat.

  His aunt gave his arm a small, affectionate squeeze, even though her expression remained stern. “It should. I shudder to think what your uncle might say to you.”

  He grimaced, torn between laughter that she thought he would tremble before his uncle’s bluster and irritation that she treated him like the greenest of lads. She was right about one thing, though. He had made a hash of everything, and Phoebe would undoubtedly suffer the brunt of his mistakes.

  He glanced from Aunt Georgie to Phoebe, who searched his face with a worried gaze. As if to comfort him, she dredged up an encouraging smile, one so sweet and forgiving it made him feel like the greatest cad in the world.

  Christ. That she believed he needed comfort only served to illustrate her generous nature, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever thought her rigid or judgmental. Well, he’d damn well spend the rest of his life making it up to her. And no one would ever hurt her again.

  “Phoebe,” his aunt said, “Lucas is correct about one thing. The Stanton family is certainly used to handling situations like this. Far worse, in fact. I have no doubt we’ll be able to brush through with only a modicum of trouble.”

  Phoebe gave her aunt a grateful smile, looking relieved. Lucas knew she failed to understand that there was only one way out of this mess, and that was for them to get leg-shackled. Everyone had already realized that except her. Phoebe remained a babe in the woods when it came to understanding how the ton would blow up this incident into the biggest scandal of the Season. All the elements were in place, including the fact that she was an outsider, and a Quaker to boot. The only sure way to protect her was through marriage to him.

  The sooner, the better, too. Lucas wanted her away from the London gossips and from his family, who couldn’t seem to keep their interfering noses out of his business. />
  Most of all, he wanted Phoebe to himself, in his arms and in his bed, without any more damn interruptions.

  When the carriage came to a halt in front of Stanton House, he handed the ladies out in silence, giving Phoebe’s hand an extra squeeze as she stepped down. She sighed and tugged her hand from his grasp. That sliced through him, and he knew it would take time and careful handling to restore her trust in him. Time, unfortunately, was the one thing they didn’t have.

  They clustered for a moment in the entrance hall as the butler and a footman relieved them of their outerwear. Aunt Georgie gave Phoebe a little push toward the stairs. “Go up to my sitting room with Meredith, my dear,” she said. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  Phoebe nodded. She threw Lucas a fleeting glance, dipped a sad little curtsy, and fled up the stairs. Meredith shook her head and gave him a wry, understanding look, and then followed her cousin.

  “Come, Lucas,” said Aunt Georgie. “Silverton and Robert should have arrived home by now with Annabel, and are no doubt waiting with your uncle. It’s time you faced the firing squad.”

  Phoebe stood in the window alcove in her aunt’s sitting room, peering out at the night-shrouded garden. Darkness obscured everything but she looked anyway, pretending to be fascinated by the clipped hedges and leafless rosebushes barely visible under the thin November moon. She burned with humiliation, not yet ready to face Annabel and Meredith, who sat together on the chaise longue in front of the chimneypiece.

  She heard the rustle of silk skirts behind her and sighed, wishing she could put off this conversation forever. How could she ever begin to explain her behavior when she could barely fathom it herself? But when Lucas had kissed her so passionately, she had returned his embrace with every ounce of longing in her soul, forgetting all her unanswered questions. Only now, when he was no longer seducing her into the warmth of his arms, did she realize he had not answered a single one.