A Marquess for Christmas

by Vivienne Westlake

  “Gather up the snow into a pile,” he instructed.

  Violet crouched down and used her arms to sweep the snow into a pile.

  “Now, see if you can shape the pile into a large round ball.”

  As she worked, he gathered his own pile of show to add to hers. They packed the snow as tightly as possible, running their hands around the circumference and shaping the powder and slush as best they could.

  Once they’d gotten a semi-round mound, he went to work on the next layer. As he scooped and packed the snow into a smaller ball, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun doing something so simple.

  “My ball is melting, Kit.”

  “Keep packing it with ice, as the snow melts, it will harden together. Even if our snowman only lasts for a day, it will be alright. We can always try again tomorrow!”

  Violet laughed. “That is, if you can drag me out again tomorrow.”

  “I can think of a few enticements,” he said. “Perhaps it is time for a new wager.” He pointed a finger at her. “Though you have not made good on the last one.”

  Why she hesitated, he did not know. Was she afraid to tie him up? Or did she have some wicked plan that he had yet to discern?

  She did not respond to his accusation. Instead, she came over to him and looked at his ball of snow. “Yours looks so much neater than mine.”

  “I have done this before. You merely need practice.”

  “Hmpf.” She spun around and walked in the other direction. He saw her bend down to start a new ball.

  “We will need arms and a head, so why don’t you try a smaller ball?”

  He carried his ball over to the larger one. It was too small, but he would build more upon it. Glancing back at Violet, he saw her furrowed brow and tried not to chuckle. She took this far too seriously.

  He stomped through the snow to where she stood. “It is not about doing it perfectly. Just have fun with it,” he said, cupping a handful of snow and shaping it.

  Before she knew what he was about, he threw the snowball at her chest.

  “You devil!”

  She bent down and grabbed a hunk of snow and crushed it in her palm before throwing it at him.

  They volleyed snow missiles at one another until Kit threw one that hit Violet so hard that she fell onto her derrière. Kit plopped down into the snow beside her and wrapped her into his arms.

  “Very good, angel.”

  “But I fell.”

  “The point of this is to have fun. You were having fun. I consider that a success.”

  Sometimes Violet was so serious, so intent on doing everything exactly right, on taking care of every little detail that she missed out on the little joys of life. He hoped to remedy that before he left.

  “Now, shall we finish our snowman?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  It took an hour to get it put together and he was more of a blob than a proper snowman, but they managed it.

  Kit put in four small buttons for the mouth, two big buttons for the eyes and stuck the pipe into his face. He remembered the red wool cap and put it on.

  “We need a nose,” Violet said as they admired their handiwork. “And the balls for the arms didn’t quite work.”

  “Let me see what I can find,” Kit said. He looked around, trying to think of something. He found two branches that were suitable for arms and plunged them into the side of the melting snowman.

  “Now what of the nose?” he asked.

  Violet bit the corner of her lip. “Hmmmm…” She wrapped her arm around Kit’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Such a simple thing, but it was the first time she’d done something like that outside of the bedchamber. He gripped her waist and pressed her close, wanting the moment to last forever.

  But she slipped out of his arms and turned toward him with twinkling eyes and a big smile. “I have an idea!”

  She took his hand and ran forward, pulling him along after her. She dug into the basket of food they’d brought with them. Violet thrust her hand in and pulled out a large walnut, still in its shell.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think it will work.”

  They ran back to their little ice man and Kit bowed and gestured for Violet to put on the finishing touch. She wiggled the walnut into the empty spot and surprised Kit by throwing her arms around him and giving him a big kiss on the mouth.

  Though he loved her hungry, devouring kisses, he liked this spontaneous and affectionate side of her, too. The kiss was warm rather than hot, but he enjoyed it just the same.

  “Shall we see if there are any more apples left on the trees?” he asked, not wanting to go inside yet.

  “Yes, though most of the trees are barren, we might find a few left.”

  She looped her arm in his and ran forward toward a copse of trees and Kit tried to keep pace with her.

  When the dark thoughts teased the edges of his mind, he focused on Violet’s face and ignored them. Tomorrow would take care of tomorrow. For today, he had everything he wanted.

  * * * *

  The next day, Kit and Violet sat together at the large polished dining table while Mrs. Norris hummed and carried over a plate of pound cake. His mouth watered as he eyed the dessert. She cut slices for them and Kit couldn’t help but moan when he took a bite.

  “Glad you like it, sir.” Mrs. Norris puffed out her chest and smiled.

  “I love it.”

  “Let me have a bite,” Violet said.

  He took another slice of cake and held it out for her to take a bite. The dessert tasted like baked gold sprinkled with the sweetest honey. He’d never tasted anything so delicious in his life, except perhaps for Violet.

  She opened her mouth to accept the morsel of food, but he smeared it into her face. When her tongue came out to lick the moist cake from her lips, he kissed her. It was a double taste of heaven.

  Just like the last week and a half. They’d spent nearly every minute together. He sat with her when she went over her accounts. He went with her to the market to buy a new hog and two cows. In the evenings, they played chess, piquet or hazard after dinner. Sometimes they sat at the pianoforte and sang a ballad.

  Since it was a bit too cold to go back outside and play with their snowman today, Violet coerced Kit into looking over fashion plates. She wanted a suit made for him in time for Christmas, which was in a fortnight. She was convinced he should wear a cherry red jacket.

  As Violet wiped her lips with a napkin, he resumed the argument. They sat at the mahogany dining table, with silks, woolens, linens, and cottons of various colors splayed before them.

  “I have no intention of dressing up as a tomato for Yuletide.”

  “You are hardly short and round, so I doubt anyone should mistake you for a tomato, sir.”

  “There is nothing wrong with a black jacket and trousers and a cream waistcoat.”

  “What is to distinguish that from any other occasion?” She took a sip from her teacup.

  “Well, then a navy jacket with brass buttons.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You are hopeless.”

  “You are almost—” He stopped himself from completing the sentence. He was going to say that she was almost as stubborn as his sister, Bella. But he did not want the reminder of his past to spoil their afternoon.

  “I am what?”

  “You are almost as stubborn as I am.”

  “Perhaps we’ll soon test that theory,” she said and the low tone of her voice made him perk up.

  When he glanced at her, her head was down to examine a light fabric with green stripes. He could not see her eyes.

  Nine days had passed, but she still hadn’t tied him down and ravished him. He’d brought it up that night, but she reminded him that she would claim her prize at her own discretion and he would have to wait.

  He had a feeling she wanted to keep him on edge, wondering where and when she would force him to yield. It was driving him
crazy.

  “Is that a promise, angel?”

  “Wait and see.” She could have been speaking about whether to have beef or mutton for dinner from her lack of inflection.

  “You are merciless.”

  Her head snapped up and she stared at him. “Why is that?”

  “I think you delight in torturing me. You have the advantage, yet you do not use it.”

  She handed him a goldenrod-colored velvet. “What about the yellow? And perhaps you can trim the lapel with this one?” She handed him a black swatch.

  “Better.”

  “We should make a few different suits.”

  “Please tell me you do not intend to dress me up for each of the twelve days of Christmas.” He rolled his eyes. “I will not do it.”

  “No, do not be silly. But at least four. You’ll need one for Christmas and another for Epiphany and at least one more in case we attend any festivities in the village. And of course, you’ll need your black jacket and trousers for standard evening attire.”

  He did not tell her that he would not need three outfits as it was unlikely he would be here after Christmas. She wanted to plan for the holidays and he wanted to spend his time with her. So he would let her play dress-up and plan a trousseau if it made her happy.

  “You have no intention of telling me when you will make good on your promise.” He handed her a swatch of a wine-colored wool. “That is cruel.”

  “Hmmm. I like this.” She put it in the basket with the fabrics they intended to use.

  “Violet.”

  “I am no more cruel than you, Kit.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You who like to bend me over the bed and bind my hands with curtain cords.”

  “But I generally give you warning before I do so.”

  “You have already had your warning.”

  He’d never thought he would meet his match. Violet truly was as stubborn as he, though he never felt chafed with her the way he did with Isabella.

  “Now you should let me plan a gown for you,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” She leaned her face on her left elbow and looked over at him. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Let me see the plates.”

  She handed him the fashion drawings and he looked for the elements he wanted. Sheer fabrics. A neckline so low that it could scarcely be worn in public. He picked a black sheer Swiss fabric that had little raised dots and black lace. Then he pulled out a piece of paper and drew an impromptu sketch based on two of the fashion plates. He envisioned a sheer overlay of the Swiss over a black muslin with lace trim under the bust and lace ruffles that peeked out underneath the hem like a petticoat.

  “I am not wearing black at Christmas. And I could not walk outside in that!”

  He flashed her a wolfish grin. “Who said that you would ever step outside in it?”

  She blushed redder than he’d ever seen her.

  “No petticoat required.”

  “You are a beast!”

  “Would you have me any other way?” She picked up a fan from the table and whacked him on the shoulder. “I am sorry, my lady, but that will only spur my bullish nature.”

  She gripped his chin and held his face close to hers. “Perhaps you need a firmer hand?”

  “Aye.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” Her voice skimmed over his skin like silk.

  “You are serious?”

  “Completely.”

  Finally. As much as he loved pushing her down to the bed, loved tying her hands with whatever fabric or rope he had on hand, he was looking forward to having Violet inflict her will upon him.

  He pushed back the chair and pulled the swatch from her fingers and set it in the basket.

  Taking her hand in his, he led her from the room. They passed Sally and Adam and then Avery who was in deep conversation with Mrs. Norris. He ignored their stares. It was not as if everyone did not know about Violet’s nightly visits to his chamber.

  He would have no problem kissing her in full view of every member of the house if she would let him. But he respected her enough to obey her wishes for discretion in front of her servants.

  “Slow down,” she said. Her breaths were fast and uneven from racing up the stairs.

  “You have made me wait for nine days, Violet. Nine days. It is time to pay up.”

  She chuckled. “I thought it was you who owed me.”

  “Then take your payment out on me, angel.” He started to shrug out of his jacket and they hadn’t even made it to the bedroom.

  “You would strip down in the hallway?”

  “I am as good as naked.” Which was true. He’d never remove his jacket in polite company unless engaged in sport.

  “Then follow me,” she said, loosening his cravat and pulling him along to follow her. They passed his room and ventured further into the hall. He knew her bedroom was the third door from the other end of the hall, but he’d never seen it. They’d spent their nights in his bed.

  When she opened the door, he could definitely tell this was the master suite. Her room was nearly twice the size of his and his room was a good size. He could see her secretary, which was a red wood and had little brass handles. The desk was down. Her papers were organized and her correspondence sat in a neat pile next to an ink bottle and quill.

  Her bed was massive. About the same size as his bed at his favorite manor house in the Hebrides. Every room in the castle there was fit for a king. It was too cold to spend the long winters there, so he divided his time between his other estates or visiting relatives.

  “Your bed is nearly the size of my room,” he said. “Why did we not come here before?”

  “You forget that big scar on your head.” She traced over the long line on his crown and the smaller scar on the side of his forehead. “You needed to rest in your own bed as much as possible.”

  That surely wasn’t the reason because they did not spend that much time resting in his bed. As far as he was concerned, his injuries were healed. He had the occasional headaches and sometimes he forgot little things, but he was far from being an invalid.

  “You wanted a safe haven for yourself. A place that belonged only to you,” he said. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. They both knew his time at Welbury Park was limited. If she spent their time together in his bed, it would be easier to close the door once he left. There would be no memories in her safe space, in her most private haven.

  “Yes.” She nodded, but did not look at him. Her voice wavered and he was afraid to look at her face and see a tear there.

  But when she turned toward him a moment later, there was no sign of crying. Perhaps he’d been mistaken.

  “I am here under your command, madam.” He played with her fingers, threading hers into his. “Do with me as you will.”

  “Unbutton your waistcoat and shirt.” She moistened her lips. “And do not forget your trousers.”

  He loosened his cravat and quickly freed open his dress shirt. Violet laid down on her bed, kicking off her slippers, and watched him.

  One by one he popped the buttons loose, taking his time. He pulled off his shirt and under shirt.

  Violet nodded approvingly. “Very nice.” When he started to pull off his trousers, she stopped him. “Leave those on.” He wasn’t wearing drawers. Though the winter chill remained, he was too hot and eager for Violet to notice most of the time. And he lived for any opportunity for a private interlude with her.

  Though most days she waited until the sky was indigo and the candles were out before she’d let him do more than touch her hand or sneak a kiss.

  “Come here.”

  As he walked, he watched the rise and fall of her breasts and the way her necklace dipped down into the valley between them.

  “Sit at the edge of the bed.”

  The bed moved as she got up, but he did not turn around to check what she was about. He would find out soon enough.

  “Hold out your arms.”

  She took
his long cravat and tied a knot on one end of the bed post the other end of the cravat was tied to his wrist. His elbows were able to bend some, so she hadn’t stretched him taut.

  After she’d tied the other wrist, she kissed his earlobe and slipped a blindfold over him.

  The pads of her fingers stroked his neck, sending tingles down his back. He’d never thought of his neck as sensitive. It had to be her.

  Her cool hands slid down his back then back up again and around his shoulders. When she touched his neck again, it was to trace a single finger down the middle. He shuddered.

  As her hands traveled down his shoulders, Kit relaxed his palms, which had gripped the white cloth of his bonds. She stroked his muscles and he exhaled deeply.

  The next thing he knew, her teeth had sunk into the curve where his neck and shoulder met. He jerked, but was soon soothed by her tongue. She nipped his shoulder. “So firm.” Light kisses trailed down his bicep and back up to his shoulder. “I love that strength.”

  Her nails danced along his back, pitter-pattering over his skin. When the tips of her fingers glided slowly down his back, he sighed. Each touch had a different texture, a different sensation.

  What would she do next?

  The sound of his own breathing filled his ears. He listened to the rhythm as he anticipated her next move. Her tongue licked the curve on the other side of his neck and her fingers combed through his hair, starting at the neck and working their way up.

  He could smell the sweet scent of cake and wondered if he would taste it on her lips when she kissed him.

  A sharp sting surprised him. Her teeth sunk into his neck. She kissed the bite and rubbed it.

  Soft locks of hair skimmed his back, contrasting with the hot sensation of her lips on his skin. She kissed and nipped her way over his shoulder blade and down. At the press of her lips to his spine, he arched his back.

  Before he could get used to that sensation, her nails scored his hips and buttocks as she went back to biting his neck and shoulders. His cock lengthened and the tip begged to be touched. If only his hands were free.

  Violet continued to run her nails over his skin. She scored her way up his back, over his shoulders and biceps, down his neck, and back to his scalp. She bit his right earlobe, then her hands slid down his abdomen.