Lord Lansbury's Christmas Wedding

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Oh, Christopher!’ She threw her arms around his neck. ‘I was so afraid I would never hear you say that to me—that you love me as I love you—a love that has grown stronger and deeper the more I got to know you.’

  ‘Never doubt it, Jane,’ he murmured, his lips caressing her throat.

  Jane’s lips parted in a low, wordless moan as his arms went about her, folding her into his embrace and bringing her against his hard muscled chest. His mouth touched hers and tested the softness of her lips, playing, warming, rousing. A soft sigh escaped her as he took her hand. Drawing her to her feet, without a word he led her from the room and up the stairs to his softly illuminated bedchamber, where, without pause, he drew her inside and closed the door. Pressing a kiss on her lips, he traced a molten path downward to her neck, before standing back and indicating the majestic bed.

  Jane smiled a tantalising smile. ‘Why, it’s a bed fit for a queen.’ Her smile widened. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  Slipping out of her skirt and blouse and loosening her hair, she shook her head until her hair formed a shimmering canopy about her face, leaving on the delicate chemise for modesty—not that she would be wearing it for much longer as she watched Christopher begin to undress.

  Stripped to the waist, Christopher leaned against the heavy foot post of his bed, his eyes like burning brands as he watched Jane saunter toward him, moving her hips with an undulating grace. Her ripe breasts pressed wantonly against the gossamer confines, rousing his senses to full awakening. Her bare feet seemed to glide over the carpet and her lips were bent upward in a totally wicked smile.

  ‘Now what?’ she asked, halting several feet away from him.

  His heated gaze seared her and he beckoned with his words. ‘Come to bed, Jane, and I will show you.’

  Jane gave a deep, throaty laugh and placed her hand son his hard, flat belly, sliding them upward over his ribs and chest, caressingly, tauntingly, feeling the heavy thud of his heart beneath her palm.

  ‘I remember how manly you are, my lord,’ she murmured as his hands came upon her waist. A low groan sounded deep in her. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned against him, first her lips and then the peaks of thinly clad breasts, rousing his hot blood to boiling as the heat of her touched him.

  ‘Jane, Jane,’ Christopher said and folded her in his arms, crushing her to him and bending to cover her soft, reaching mouth with his. They stumbled and fell atop the bed. Jane rose above him slightly. Staring into those hungry silver eyes, she lowered her head to kiss him long and ardently. His hands moved to her waist, and the chemise fell loose. A tug at the ties of her bodice and it was off her shoulders. Jane crouched on her knees above him, tempting him with a kiss, an intimate touch, until Christopher rolled, pulling her beneath him. Then with fierce, naked abandon he possessed her, sweeping her with him to breathless spiralling heights.

  * * *

  Climbing out of the depths of sleep, Christopher woke as if from a trance, for one brief, haunting moment fearing that he had dreamed it all. But then he felt Jane’s soft, warm body entwined with his, her slender thigh pressed against his, her lovely curving form nestled close, the fragrance of her perfume filling his brain, and he relaxed.

  The memory of her passion fanned the fires in his mind. She tempted him with her arms, with her softness, with her lips, and had made love to him without shame. They had come together with a heat that melted them into one, each oblivious of everything but the other. All that had gone before was dimmed in the brilliance of the union. Her effect on him was total and complete—devastating when wanting her only led him to frustration and agony of mind and body, beautiful when they joined in love and she was his.

  ‘Once is pardonable. Twice is a downright sin,’ she whispered, placing soft kisses on his shoulder. ‘Now I will have to marry you.’

  Christopher’s breath caught in his throat. ‘You turned me down.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ Leaving off kissing him, she peered up at him. ‘You do still want to marry me, don’t you, Christopher?’

  ‘Want you? Dear Lord, Jane, that is all I want.’

  Holding her face away from his she smiled—a warm, tender smile that swelled and lifted Christopher’s heart to see. ‘Well then, now that has been said we’d better get on with it—just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘The result of this night is a child. We cannot risk a scandal. That would never do.’

  Christopher laughed and gathered her naked form close, thinking what an absolute delight she was to him. ‘I hope there is a child. Nothing would make me happier—except, of course, to have you as my adorable wife, lying beside me every night of our lives. Are you sure you want to marry me? You are going to a life which is different from anything you have known.’

  ‘I know that, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life. I fell in love with you the first time we met. The hardest thing of all was trying not to show it.’

  He laughed softly, but his look turned wistful. He wound a length of her hair around his finger. ‘I cannot believe this is real—that you are real, that this is happening. Because if it’s all a dream, I don’t want to wake up.’

  ‘It’s real.’ She searched his eyes. ‘I love you, Christopher. Had you said you loved me when you asked me to marry you the first time, I would have accepted then. But I had told myself from a very young age that I would not marry a man who did not love me. I would settle for nothing less. But now you do, so that makes me happy, and—’ she smiled ‘—we have a wedding to plan.’

  ‘I agree. As soon as it can be arranged. Although I must warn you that my mother will suggest that it takes place at Chalfont.’

  ‘I have no objections to that. In fact, I cannot think of any other place where I would rather be married.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Christmas would be nice. It will give me the opportunity to help Finn with the exhibition. He intends to leave for Greece after that, but I am sure I can persuade him to stay a while longer. He’s the closest I have to a father and I would like him to give me away. Do you have any objections to that?’

  ‘If that is what you want, then it is all right with me, Jane.’ He touched her lips with his own. ‘A Christmas wedding it will be.’

  * * *

  The rest of the night was passed in slow and wordless love and exploration, finding again each other’s body, and, towards dawn, had touched each other’s soul. Lying together, Jane held him in her arms, a dreaming Adonis in all his pagan splendour. She touched his cheek, gently, and his hand rose to hers. Taking it, he placed a kiss in its palm.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered, holding her in his arms, glorying at what was happening between them. He had never experienced anything like the tangible bond their lovemaking had wrought, so warm and tender yet strong between them.

  He had not had a life before Jane. In coming together he felt reborn.

  Epilogue

  It was a time of excitement and great rejoicing at Chalfont. With a wedding to arrange for Boxing Day as well as to help Lady Lansbury and Octavia decorate the house for Christmas, Jane arrived one week before the festivities. Christopher was in London and was to travel to Chalfont with Aunt Caroline and Finn the day before Christmas Eve.

  Winter spread across the countryside like ripples on a pond. Jane’s airy laughter and light, ever-ready humour infected everyone at Chalfont. With her presence, it seemed the sun shone brighter. Hearts were lightened and everyone attacked the Christmas preparations with a zealous determination.

  * * *

  When Christopher finally arrived, snow had started to fall. Jane was outside the house when the carriage finally appeared in the drive. Christopher was the first to climb out and turned to help his guests before gathering Jane to him.

  Lady Lansbury ushered Caroline and Fin
n into the house, but Jane and Christopher held back.

  With his arm about her he tilted her chin. ‘Happy?’

  ‘I couldn’t be more so.’ The smile she gave him confirmed her statement. ‘I love this house.’

  ‘That’s the effect it has on everyone.’

  Taking her hand, he linked it through the crook of his arm and they entered the house through the large oak doors. There was a log fire blazing in the enormous fireplace, baskets of pine cones in the hearth and garlands of berried evergreens, mistletoe, holly and ivy decorated the hall.

  Aunt Caroline gasped. ‘Oh, how beautiful it looks. And just look at that tree,’ she said, moving closer to the tall fir tree which was the centrepiece of the decorations. She stood next to Octavia, who was looking up at the fairy with wondrous awe.

  Surrounded by a multitude of gifts, the tree was planted in a brightly decorated tub and secured at its pinnacle was a beautiful golden-haired fairy in a gold dress and wings and holding a wand. The tree was decorated with tinsel and beautiful ornaments, reflecting the light of a multitude of brilliantly lit little tapers, a servant on hand with a wet sponge to guard against fire.

  ‘We usually have the tree in the drawing room,’ Lady Lansbury explained. ‘But Jane thought how nice it would be to have it in the hall where it can be seen by everyone who comes to the house. I have to agree it’s an improvement. Now you must have a glass of hot punch to warm you up before going to your rooms to prepare for dinner.’

  * * *

  Christmas Eve was one of those winter days that lift the heart. The snow that had been falling throughout the night had stopped. The sky was a wide expanse of azure blue and the day so clear that one could see for miles. Serviceably attired in warm coats, colourful scarves and hats pulled down over their ears to combat the elements, dragging toboggans and floundering happily in the deep snow, Christopher and Jane took Octavia to a hill in the park.

  With much hilarity they sledged for half an hour before abandoning the toboggans to build a snowman, which ended when Christopher engaged his rosy-cheeked companions in a snowball fight. Shrieking with laughter, Jane and Octavia managed to get Christopher on his back, where he begged for mercy as Jane stuffed snow down his collar before he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her soundly.

  When all three were thoroughly wet, they returned to the house to change into dry clothes.

  * * *

  There were guests in the evening—neighbours and friends. The long gallery came alive and began to function. After many years of austerity it took on an air of being something more than an empty room hung with ancestral portraits. A fire had been lighted, a buffet supper was served and musicians played. Dancers swirled by, leaving scents of lavender and rose water in their wake.

  Christopher drew Jane into the dancing, sliding his hand around her waist and drawing her possessively close. The soft music filled the gallery with long, warm cords that drifted around them, enfolding them in a bouquet of whispers and soft caresses.

  ‘How are you enjoying your first Christmas in England?’

  ‘I am so happy I can’t believe it’s true. I feel as if I am dreaming and any moment now I shall wake up. I can’t believe that the day after tomorrow I will be your wife.’

  ‘Believe it, my darling,’ he murmured, staring down at the glorious temptress in his arms.

  Along the length of the gallery the pair danced. Christopher swept his wife-to-be in a waltz that was sometimes rent with laughter as they made their own steps. They whispered sweet inanities, talked of dreams, hopes and other things, as lovers are wont to do.

  The excitement of the evening was when a small group of strolling carollers arrived. They stood outside with their lanterns and rendered all the well-loved carols—‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ and ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ and many more—with everyone joining in.

  Afterwards Octavia helped Jane and Lady Lansbury hand round mulled wine and mince pies.

  When the carollers and the guests had departed for their homes, everyone retired to the drawing room where gifts were unwrapped amid expressions of delight.

  There was a moment when they sat roasting chestnuts, drinking port wine and laughing late into the evening, when the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, that Jane felt a moment of melancholy because her father wasn’t with her. Gazing into the distance, she immersed herself in the nostalgic memories of Christmases past. She glanced at Finn, who, sensing her mood, raised his glass and said, ‘To absent friends.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Yes, to absent friends.’

  * * *

  Christmas Day dawned and delicious smells of cinnamon, apple and roasting meats emanating from the kitchen filled the house. Unlike Christmas Eve it was a quiet day. Everyone went to church and afterwards there was the traditional Christmas dinner with turkey and all the trimmings followed by Christmas pudding brought ablaze to the table. It was a happy, relaxed time, with everyone’s mind on the wedding of Christopher and Jane the next day.

  * * *

  Boxing Day came at last and Jane and Christopher were married in a private ceremony at the Chalfont village church. Octavia was Jane’s sole bridesmaid, in a taffeta light-blue dress adorned with ruffles and ribbons, a white fur stole about her shoulders and carrying a small bouquet, a smile stretched from ear to ear. She was excited and so very happy that Jane was to live at Chalfont, that she would be her sister and never again would she leave. Lady Lansbury and Jane’s Aunt Caroline exchanged soft-hearted looks. They were both suffused with happiness at the way things had turned out.

  When Christopher turned to look at Jane walking slowly towards him on Finn’s arm, all coherent thought left his head. Her gown was cream satin and lace and she looked breathtakingly beautiful. She looked like a queen. The fabric clung like skin to her slender body. The neckline was square cut, outlining her breasts, following her trim waist to her hips, the train flaring out to heavy, shimmering folds to brush the stone flags as she walked. Her entire body seemed to gleam and then Christopher realised that the cloth had been sewn with hundreds of tiny glass beads.

  Her hair was unbound, curling about her back and shoulders, her face aglow with happiness, and her beautiful violet eyes were fixed on Christopher. Loving him.

  Christopher had not known it was possible to feel like this. Now that he did, he would never look at his friends with puzzlement and envy again. Jane was his life and he knew he would never regret leaving behind his lonely bachelorhood.

  She had reached him, touched him in places he hadn’t known existed. His gaze slid over her, lingering, wanting to undress her slowly, taking his time.

  ‘Am I allowed to kiss my bride?’ he asked Finn, who had taken time off from the exhibition, which was attracting a great deal of interest.

  Taking Jane’s hand, Finn handed it to Christopher, his eyes wrinkling with a broad smile, happy that his friend’s daughter had found happiness with the man of her choice.

  ‘Patience,’ Finn told the younger man. ‘In a moment you can kiss your wife.’

  Christopher smiled at his bride, a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘Even better.’

  Hiding his own smile, the priest began to say the words that would join them together. Afterwards he said, ‘Now you may kiss the bride.’

  With his thumb, Christopher tilted her chin and met her eyes, knowing there was nothing more beautiful in the world than what he saw in their warm, dark depths.

  ‘My wife,’ he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from LADY ROWENA’S RUIN by Carol Townend.

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  Lady Rowena's Ruin

  by Carol Townend

  Chapter One

  May 1175—Jutigny Castle, near Provins in the County of Champagne.

  It was some time since Sir Eric de Monfort had visited Jutigny Castle and it was strange to be back. As a boy, the place had once been his home. Leaving his horse in the capable hands of one of the grooms, Eric crossed the bailey with his squire, Alard, and headed for the steps leading to the great hall.

  Jutigny hadn’t changed much, the keep towered over everyone just as it always had done, and the pale gleam of new wood on the walkway up on the curtain wall proved that Lord Faramus de Sainte-Colombe was keeping his defences in order. There was the familiar string of outbuildings, the chapel, the cookhouse...

  Sir Macaire, the castle steward and an old friend, was standing in the hall doorway, talking to a castle sergeant. His face lightened. ‘Eric, thank God you’re here! Lord Faramus is getting impatient, you can go straight in.’

  ‘I need a mug of ale first,’ Eric said, going to a side table and picking up the ale jug. ‘I’ve been at the fair in Provins all morning and I’m parched. Lord Faramus didn’t mention that the matter was urgent. What does he want?’

  Sir Macaire grimaced. ‘I’m not at liberty to say, lad, but your ale will have to wait. Lord Faramus and Lady Barbara have been waiting for you up in the solar for nigh on an hour and as you know, the count is not known for his tolerance.’ Sir Macaire threw a dark glance in the direction of a knight sprawled on the bench nearest the stairwell. ‘Besides, if you don’t go up straight away, I’ve orders to send in Sir Breon. And that would be a travesty.’ He shook his head. ‘A travesty.’