His Mistletoe Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  He grimaced and muttered something under his breath before he finally replied. “I suppose I can put up with Silverton for one night if it makes you happy.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He nodded and returned to his books, but when she kept her place he glanced up. “Is there something else?”

  This time, she heard the undisguised impatience. Her courage almost deserted her, but she had only one more hurdle to clear. Unfortunately, it was the biggest one. “I wish to speak to you about the smugglers.”

  He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, making the thick locks stand straight up before they tumbled across his brow. “We discussed this, Phoebe. You are not to get involved.”

  She held her hands up, palms out. “I am not trying to interfere, but I cannot help but worry. Both about you and the villagers. You must realize they fell into smuggling because of the wretched conditions in the village. Some people were actually starving, Lucas. What were they to do?”

  “You think I don’t know that? It has been a bloody nightmare for just about everyone, which is one of the reasons why I’m emptying my pockets to get this estate back in working order.”

  “I know. And that is wonderful, but in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime I have already let it be known that any man who seeks an honest day’s wage can find it at the manor, no questions asked. I’m not a hard-hearted bastard, no matter what you might think about me.” He flung the last words at her like a challenge.

  “I have never thought that,” she answered quietly. “I never would.”

  The fire crackled and leapt like a merry, mad thing, filling the silence that fell again. That silence seemed a solid, breathing creature, growing the distance between them.

  “Then you also know I can’t let the smuggling continue,” he finally said in a rough voice. “It’s too dangerous. Someone is going to get killed if I don’t put a stop to it.”

  She thought of Samuel Weston, and the other children who might be at risk, and could only nod in agreement. “I understand. I only ask that when the time comes, you exercise as much compassion as you can. For all our sakes.” She was surprised to feel tears pricking her eyes. “You must return to your work, so I will bid you good night.”

  Phoebe started for the door, struggling to keep her emotions at bay. She should be satisfied, since he had given her more than she had expected, but the idea of another night in her lonely bed left her weary and chilled to the bone. Right now, she needed Lucas more than ever, but she was not to have him.

  “Phoebe.” His deep voice pulled her up short, and she turned slowly to face him. He now lounged in his chair in a careless sprawl, looking big and powerful, and more than a little dangerous.

  “Yes?” she whispered, barely hearing herself over the thumping of her heart.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Ah . . . up to my chambers.”

  His eyes turned smoky gray with desire. “Not yet,” he said. Then he extended his hand. “My sweet, come here.”

  Chapter 23

  Phoebe remained frozen by the door, her big, dark eyes filled with a combination of yearning and apprehension. She clearly wanted him as much as he wanted her, enough so she had bearded him in his den and refused to back down, even though he’d sure as hell been less than welcoming. Her determination to bridge their estrangement sent triumph and no small measure of relief surging through his veins.

  Living this close to Phoebe and yet not being able to touch her had been a special kind of torture—worse than some of the hellish conditions Lucas had faced in the military. But she’d drawn the line on their wedding night, using her naive moral beliefs to reduce him to little more than an exaggerated fairy-tale villain. It had practically killed him to walk away, but he would never take her against her will, or use her own innocent passion to overcome her objections.

  He knew he could have seduced her. But his pride wouldn’t stand for it, and he knew on some level it would damage her as well. His lesser angels had urged him to use her sexual inexperience against her, but the price would have been far too high, the wound to her spirit far too great.

  And so he had kept his distance this last week, both physically and emotionally. But as the days crept by and his frustrations with the estate grew along with his sexual hunger, he’d begun to question the point of it. They’d argued over a bunch of inept smugglers, for Christ’s sake. A damn group of idiots who didn’t have the sense to realize they risked their own safety and that of their families by making ever more dangerous runs while the legal noose pulled tighter by the day. His visit to Harper had confirmed that. The excise officer and his men were closing in on the local gang, and it was only a matter of time until they were apprehended.

  Lucas could choose to ignore the whole business, of course, as the previous earl had done and as many estate owners continued to do. Phoebe, with her tender heart, obviously wanted him to do just that. He wasn’t too proud to admit that late at night, when his sexual frustration reached unmanageable proportions, he was tempted to give in to her.

  More than once his feet had hit the floor and he had stalked to the connecting doors between their rooms, ready to accede to her wishes. It wasn’t merely the desire to feel her perfect body wrapped around his, although that image affected him powerfully. It was his growing need for her gentle understanding at the end of another wretched day spent trying to resurrect something meaningful from this wreck of an estate. He longed for that as a man on the battlefield longed for peace and respite. It was one of the reasons he’d married her, for the pleasure and consolation of her generous, kind nature.

  But he couldn’t capitulate, not even to please his new wife. To do so would violate everything he believed in, both as an officer and a gentleman. Phoebe had to learn and learn quickly that he would be lord in his own manor. She, along with everyone else, had to realize his word was now law. Not for any foolish exercise of power, but because the safety and well-being of those in the village and the manor now rested squarely on his shoulders.

  Thankfully, Phoebe had finally come to him, sweet and nervous and yet determined to make the first difficult step in breaching the barriers between them. Her actions touched him more than he cared to admit, and he respected what it must have cost her. In return, he was willing to let her have her silly Christmas party and her abbey visit—as annoying and distracting as those two events were going to be—if it meant they could put the blasted estrangement to rest.

  And if it meant he could finally have his lush little wife in his bed, where she belonged.

  He smiled at her, waiting patiently for her to come to him. She had backbone, his Phoebe, but she was still an innocent. Her desire was as soft and fragile as new petals on a blooming rose. At this point, his lust for her was so overpowering it might scare the hell out of her if he let it become fully evident.

  When she still didn’t move, he lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Phoebe?”

  A fugitive smile trembled on her lips and she took a deep breath. Her breasts, tightly encased by her modest dress, strained in full, pretty mounds against the fabric. He didn’t think it was his imagination that her nipples were faintly outlined beneath her bodice. His mouth watered with the idea of tasting them.

  Finally, she came to him, hesitant but graceful. When she rounded the desk and stopped before him, her brow slightly furrowed, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he took her hand and tugged her into his lap.

  Gasping, she tumbled across his thighs and clutched his shoulders to steady herself. Her pretty bottom made contact with his stiffening cock, and he had to bite back a groan.

  “Lucas, what in heaven’s name are you doing?” Her voice was high with nerves.

  With one hand he tipped her chin up. Then he leaned in, inhaling her clean, feminine scent, before he laved the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck. She let out a strangled moan and dug her fingers into his coat.

  “I’m getting ready to make love to my wife,
” he murmured.

  Her body went rigid in his arms. Frowning, he lifted his head to study her. Had he read her wrong? He could have sworn she wanted this as much as he did.

  Yet she clung to him, staring back with naked longing in her eyes. And something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  He nuzzled her soft cheek. “Don’t you want us to be together as man and wife, Phoebe? Isn’t that why you came in here?”

  She worried her plump lower lip, the small motion sending a flash of heat to his groin. Between that and the pressure of her sweet arse, he had to clamp down hard on the impulse to grind up into her.

  “Y . . . yes. I mean, no. I mean . . . yes, I do not wish us to be estranged, but I did not specifically come to ask for this.”

  That last word was accompanied by a fluttering of one small hand from her chest to his, meant to encompass all that was implied in their present situation.

  His modest little Quaker. He bit back a smile, contenting himself with a gentle brush of his lips across her mouth. Her eyelids drifted down and her fingers once more dug into his shoulders. This time he did smile. “But you do want this, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she breathed against his mouth.

  “That’s all I was waiting for.” He wrapped his arms around her and surged to his feet, holding her high against his chest. Dodging around his desk, careful not to thump her into anything, he strode toward the door.

  Her eyes went round with astonishment. “Lucas! What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking my wife upstairs to bed.”

  As he hoped, that brought a charming blush to her cheeks. “I am quite capable of walking to my bedroom. You really should put me down.”

  He juggled her a bit as he opened the door. “Right now I can’t think of a single reason why I should.”

  In fact, it had taken all his willpower not to sit her on his lap, shove her dress up, and take her right there in the uncertain privacy of his library. He had no intention of putting her down until it was on her bed, with the damn door to her rooms locked behind them.

  “Because one of the servants might—” She cut off her sentence with a groan as their butler appeared at the top of the stairs, making his evening round to check all the windows and doors.

  “Good evening, my lord,” Christmas intoned in his usual lugubrious manner. “My lady, I do hope you are not unwell.”

  Phoebe went as stiff as a board in his arms. Giving her an evil grin, Lucas gazed down at her, waiting for her to answer the question. She flashed him a scowl, then promptly wiped it from her features before addressing the butler. “I am perfectly well, Mr. Christmas. Thank you for your kind inquiry. His lordship is simply helping me up to my chambers.”

  “How kind of his lordship,” the butler responded. Not even the unusual sight of the master carrying the mistress to bed was enough to lighten the death knell quality of the old fellow’s voice.

  Christmas gave them a dignified nod and passed by, acting for all the world as if nothing was amiss. Phoebe smiled and nodded back, although she was rigid with indignation in her husband’s arms. Lucas almost burst into laughter but he managed to choke it down, not wanting to provoke her any further. If he did, she might kick him out of her room, and that would surely drive him completely insane.

  As he strode down the hall, enjoying the warm little package she made in his arms, Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You, sir, are a perfect beast. God only knows what the poor man thinks of us.”

  “I do. He thinks whatever we pay him to think.”

  She rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched the edges of her mouth. He loved that quality in her—so dignified and modest, and yet possessed of an unpredictable sense of humor and so much passion. Sometimes, it manifested itself in surprising displays of temper, like that night at the Framingham ball. Yet at other times, like tonight, a little imp peeked out from behind that proper facade. It fascinated him to the point of obsession, and God help him if she ever discovered that.

  When they stopped in front of her bedroom door, she reached out to turn the knob herself. As he carried her in, Maggie popped out of Phoebe’s dressing room, a bundle of clothes draped over her arm. She took one look at them and came rushing forward.

  “Oh, my lady,” she gasped as she fluttered uselessly around them. “Whatever is wrong? Are you ill?”

  Lucas let out a long-suffering sigh, while his wife looked at him and raised a challenging eyebrow. Fair enough. He’d made her handle the butler. “Nothing’s wrong, Maggie. I’m simply helping her ladyship get ready for bed. Run along now. You won’t be needed.”

  Maggie’s round eyes got even rounder as understanding dawned. She only half tried to stifle a giggle as she bobbed them a curtsy. “Of course, my lord. Whatever you say. Shall I tell Popham he won’t be needed either?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Maggie backed out of the room, gently closing the door. But through the panels they heard the girl call out, “Oh, Mr. Popham. No need to wait up. His lordship will be sleeping in my lady’s bed tonight. And about time, too, I might add.”

  Fortunately, they were spared Popham’s reply.

  Phoebe groaned and thunked her head against his chest.

  “I don’t like to criticize, my love,” Lucas said in a musing tone, “but it strikes me that your maid is a titch too forward in her manners.”

  “Then she fits in very well with the rest of the servants at Mistletoe Manor, does she not?” Phoebe responded dryly.

  He laughed. “Yes, we’ve been extraordinarily lucky in that respect, haven’t we?” He strode to the bed, then dropped her into the soft welter of stacked pillows and bedclothes.

  She bounced once and then collapsed with a giggle onto the pillows. When she recovered her breath, she smiled up at him. “I am not sure how lucky it is to have a houseful of servants discussing our intimate relations on a regular basis,” she said, wrinkling her adorable nose.

  He gazed at her, all a-tumble, her skirts hiked up around her thighs, exposing her pretty legs in their simple white stockings. His groin tightened and every muscle in his body went hard.

  “I don’t know about you, sweetheart,” he murmured, tracing his hand from her ankle up to the knee. She shivered under his hand, and he smiled. “But right now I’m feeling very lucky indeed.”

  Phoebe peered at her handsome, imposing husband. As he braced one hand against the bedpost and smiled down at her, the hot gleam in his eye had her stomach jumping with nerves and anticipation. She had wanted him—wanted this—so much, but now that the moment had arrived she had no idea what to say or do. When he made her laugh, it seemed so much easier. But the prospect of Lucas finally taking her to bed was anything but a laughing matter.

  His head tilted as he assessed her. “You’re feeling anxious again, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, her throat so dry she would likely croak if she tried to utter a word.

  With a smile easing the lines of his strong features, he sat down beside her. “You weren’t anxious the other night, were you? Not once we got started.”

  “No,” she said. And her voice sounded exactly like a frog’s croak.

  He laughed softly. “Then trust me and all will be well.”

  That was the crux of the matter. Trust. She had trusted him enough to make that first approach downstairs in his study, and he had not failed her. But this was the final bridge to cross. Once done, there would be no more keeping her distance from him, physically or emotionally.

  As he waited patiently for her to respond, he began pulling the pins from her hair. He worked methodically, as if nothing could be more interesting than playing lady’s maid. His manner, more than anything, reassured her. Lucas would take care of her, as he took care of everything and everyone in his life.

  “I do trust you,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He slipped his hands under her shoulders and helped her sit up. Then he moved behind and began unbuttoning her dress. As eac
h button came free, he parted her dress and planted a kiss on her back. Even through her stays and chemise, the press of his lips along her spine made her shudder.

  “What a lot of silly buttons you have, Lady Merritt,” he said as he methodically worked his way down.

  “Do not blame me. Blame that ridiculous modiste Aunt Georgie and Meredith dragged me to.”

  “I find I’m quite enjoying unwrapping my wife. It’s rather like finding an early present several days before Christmas.”

  While he worked, Phoebe had been undoing the buttons at her wrists. Her hands trembled so much she only managed to free one wrist before he finished with the back of her dress.

  He moved around to help, and his deft fingers made quick work of her cuffs. Then, as he leaned over to kiss her, slipping his tongue between her lips for a quick taste, he eased the dress off her shoulders. A moment later he had it down to her hips, and she lifted her bottom to help him remove it completely. Without looking, he tossed it behind him in the general direction of the chair in front of her dressing table. It missed, landing in a heap on the floor.

  “Lucas,” she exclaimed. “That is no way to treat a very expensive dress.”

  He was already at work on her stays. “I thought you didn’t like it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I never said that.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a distracted voice as he pulled the garment from her body, “I’ll buy you a new one. As many as you like, with hundreds of buttons for me to undo.”

  She smiled at his teasing, but shivered a moment later when his big hands came right to her breasts, kneading the plump mounds for a few seconds before scraping his calloused palms across the rapidly stiffening points. Phoebe bit her lip, stifling a moan.

  He gave a rough laugh. “Don’t hold it in on my account, love. I like it when you make noise.”

  She eyed him doubtfully. “You do?”

  Lucas planted his hands on either side of her hips, and bent over to tongue her nipple through the thin fabric of her chemise. It contracted into a hard bead under the rough pressure of his tongue. An exquisite sensation arrowed from the tip of her breast to the crux of her thighs, and she fell back on her elbows as a moan forced its way from between her lips. Lucas hummed his satisfaction deep in his throat as he continued to suck and tease one nipple and then the other.