The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret

by Moore, Margaret

  “It is unseemly of me to be here, Sir Andrew.” She dropped her muff on a chair and turned to face him.

  “What a difficult choice. Unseemly or dead? Hmm? Which would I choose?”

  The wretch was making light of her dilemma. “I should go downstairs.”

  “And be raped in your sleep? Or have your throat slit for your purse?”

  He was exaggerating, of course, but he had a point. She glanced at the small straight-backed chair where she’d dropped her muff. Perhaps she could sleep sitting up if she rested her head on the little table beside it. Perhaps not. She looked up and smiled. “Then you should go downstairs.”

  He laughed. “Not a chance, sweet Charity. I am enjoying this too much.”

  Sweet Charity? Warning bells went off in her head and she began to tingle all over. “I can see that,” she said. “But why?”

  “Secrets, m’dear. Now you and I have one, don’t we? What lengths might you go to in order to keep such a secret? Will you lie to your Julius?”

  Her Julius? Then he hadn’t guessed? Before she could reply, a soft knock announced the innkeeper, who brought in a small hip bath and two large towels. His wife followed, carrying two large buckets of steaming water.

  “You can cool it with snow from the ledge,” he told them as he shut the door.

  Sir Andrew lifted her cloak and bonnet away and hung them on a peg behind the door. “Better hurry if you want warm water,” he said.

  Then the obvious occurred to her. “This is absurd. I cannot disrobe. What will I wear until my things dry?”

  He took a deep maroon velvet robe from the clothes press and dropped it on the foot of the bed, then crossed his arms and grinned at her.

  “Will…will you wait downstairs?”

  “You are determined to ruin my fun. Are you certain you do not need help?” he asked.

  “Positive,” she vowed.

  How bloody long did a woman need to take a bath, Drew wondered. Longer than two glasses of port? He intercepted the innkeeper’s wife heading for the staircase with the tray of food he’d requested. She’d added a pear and an apple to his order and he gave her an extra coin. He took the tray—with instructions that they did not want to be disturbed.

  After a soft knock, he unlocked the door and let himself in. Charity was standing by the window draped in his deep maroon dressing robe and her clothing was hung from various pegs and hooks to dry. She was so swaddled that all he could make out were those slender ankles and feet on one end and the mass of blond hair pinned to the top of her head on the other. Ah, but she’d left that slender neck bare and vulnerable.

  He was seized of a possessiveness so fierce that it hit him like a blow to his gut. He placed the tray on the table and carried her eggnog to her. “Hungry, Miss Wardlow?”

  She turned to him and he drew in a long breath. Free of the artifice of fashion and society, she was even more stunning. Her eyes were soft and luminous. Only her fingertips peeked out from the sleeves of his robe, and she smelled of his soap instead of her own sweet perfume. Having her in his room, seeing her like this, was so right that he realized he would stop at nothing to have her.

  She gave him a shy smile and took the offered cup. “Thank you, Sir Andrew.” She sipped and then sat on the narrow window seat, cupping the mug between her hands. “I’ve been thinking of a likely story to hide our secret. I shall tell anyone who asks that I passed the night in the common room.”

  “As long as we are lying, can we not make me sound more chivalrous? Shall we say I spent the night in the common room?”

  She giggled. Drew usually had little patience for gigglers. But when Charity giggled, it was not of nervousness, a social affectation or silliness. It was an expression of sheer enjoyment. The little minx was having fun in spite of herself.

  He sat beside her and rolled her sleeves up several times until her hands were completely exposed. “I had hoped I would make a better fit for you, Charity.”

  “I think you fit quite well,” she said in a low murmur.

  Fit quite well? He grew hard when he thought precisely how she would fit him. He prayed he would have enough self-control to go slowly and do this right. “Drew,” he supplied. “Call me Drew.” He did not want her calling him by anything but his given name. He would loathe any formality between them now.

  “Drew,” she repeated, looking down to cover a blush.

  Yes, she knew what was about to happen here. He prayed she would not change her mind, because that would certainly leave him a ruined man.

  Unable to resist any longer, he lifted her chin on the edge of his hand and lowered his mouth to hers. Her shy hunger, as if she were embarrassed by it, was deeply arousing.

  “I believe I am about to get burned,” she sighed.

  He removed the pins from her hair and let it fall like liquid silk around them. “If I do it right,” he murmured against her throat.

  A flash of fear raced through Charity. How could she do this? Could she trust she was not just another entertainment for Drew? Would he still want her once he had conquered her? Oh, but how could she not do this? Every part of her being cried out for it—every instinct screamed that it was right. And if she never had him again, at least she would have him tonight.

  Drew stood, dragging her up with him. When she steadied on her feet, he released her and lifted her chin. He held her with his gaze as he pulled the sash and let the robe fall open, then slid it over her shoulders to puddle at her feet. He drew in a long breath and she stood still as his eyes swept over her. The room, which had seemed suffocatingly close a moment before, was suddenly cold. Chill bumps rose on her arms, and her breasts puckered and firmed.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, lifting her to carry her to the bed and place her beneath a thick eiderdown quilt. When it seemed as if he would rise, she caught his arm and dragged him back down to her. He kissed her deeply, drawing up a sweetness from her very core. Impatient, she fumbled with his buttons, desperate to have him next to her. He aided her clumsy attempts by simply ripping his shirt off, scattering buttons everywhere, then shed his boots and stockings.

  He was magnificent. She wasn’t certain how a man should look, but he exceeded her expectations. His chest, lightly matted with dark hair, was strongly muscled and broad. His waist and abdomen were narrow and firm, and then courage failed her as he pushed his trousers down his narrow hips. She lifted her eyes to his again—those remarkable midnight eyes. They sparkled with humor and understanding.

  “Easy, sweet,” he said. “Nothing to be frightened of. You are its master.”

  He must be jesting. How could she command such a thing?

  He slipped beneath the eiderdown to join her and brushed her hair back to cup her face. “If I do something you do not like, anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell me.”

  She could not even imagine him doing something she would not like. Indeed, his kisses immediately drew her deeper into some sweet abyss—she was drowning in them, consumed by them. His hands worked their way down her spine to cup her buttocks and hitch her higher. Then he lifted her outer leg and drew it up his thigh, leaving her cleft vulnerable.

  She remembered this from yesterday in the small sitting room. Her breathing deepened in anticipation of his touch and that bliss, but it did not come. Long, teasing caresses accustomed her to his touch on her thigh well before he found the soft, vulnerable center of her sex. He stroked and whispered praise in a low purring voice until she writhed with anticipation. Was she a wanton to want him so much? Would he think her bold and wicked if she demanded more?

  “Drew…” she moaned.

  “Patience,” he whispered, moving lower, leaving a hot trail with his tongue from her throat to her breast. “I’m discovering you,” he explained. “I want to know all your secrets.”

  Oh! What sweet torture when he bit lightly and swirled his tongue over the tender pink tip, nibbling and kissing until she thought she’d go mad. She tangled her fingers through
his hair and wrapped her legs around him.

  “You make me wild,” he groaned. As if to reward her, he slipped his finger inside her—stroking the inner folds with a sure touch over and over again until she thought she’d go mad.

  “Please, Drew. I cannot stand any more. Just…just do it.” She writhed beneath his hand and finally squealed with impatience when he stroked lightly at that breathtaking spot he had found yesterday. “Oh, my!”

  He kissed her deeply, swallowing her cries of ecstasy. “There,” he whispered when she quieted, “now you are ready.”

  “I am done,” she moaned.

  He laughed. “Oh, no, sweet Charity. We’ve just begun. You’re hot and wet and ready for me.”

  He moved over the top of her and drew her legs up on either side of his. She guessed how they must fit and she lifted her hips to him. She wanted him, wanted him inside her desperately, but she’d heard there would be pain. She took a deep breath and prepared herself, trying to remember what she had heard of such events. He kissed her as he pressed downward, forcing a snug, shallow entry.

  “Relax,” he urged. “Breathe.”

  His voice was hoarse, hot and moist in her ear, sending little vibrations along her nerve endings and a shiver of delight up her spine.

  “Inhale,” he whispered, and waited for her to follow his instructions. “Exhale…inhale….”

  When she inhaled the second time, he thrust downward. A sudden sharp pain ripped through her and she twitched, trying to adjust to the thickness of him, stronger, deeper, more intimate than his hand had been.

  “Exhale, Charity. You cannot hold your breath all night.”

  How had she forgotten to breathe? She let her breath out in a long shudder. She glanced up at Drew. He was watching her with a hint of concern. He smiled, and the warmth that surged through her with that simple gesture reassured her. Drew would never hurt her, never let her down, never let her go. She was safe with him. She’d never felt that with Julius.

  He kissed her, keeping his mouth on hers as he began moving, and a slow fire kindled in her center again. The burning and heat built with the intensity of Drew’s thrusts, and she was gasping again, reaching a new pinnacle, ever higher until, at last, she cried out with him and stilled as the tremors swept through them.

  “Oh, Charity,” she heard him moan as she fell into a languid swoon. “Sweet, sweet Charity.”

  Near morning, when the inn was quiet and she thought all her passion had been spent, he slipped his arms around her. He pulled her back against his chest, nesting his thighs behind hers, and his arms around her, one hand intimately resting on her breast. She felt the shape and weight of his sex under her. A sudden hunger kindled inside her and she wanted him again.

  “Drew, could we do that again?” she whispered into the dark.

  “My God, but you are a bawdy wench!” He laughed and pulled the comforter over their heads as he answered her soft plea.

  Chapter Ten

  Charity stretched and yawned, turning toward the light. She squinted into a clear blue dawn and sparkling icicles dripping steadily from the eaves. The storm was over. It was time to reckon with her waywardness.

  Memories of the night brought heat to her cheeks and she turned back over to look at Drew. Dark stubble covered his jaw and his absurdly thick lashes lay against his cheeks. He was so handsome that she wanted to wake him and tell him so, but the temptation to lie abed another day would be too great to resist. How would they keep their secret then?

  She traced his lips with her fingertip, remembering how they had felt on every part of her, and she shuddered with the sweetness of it. But no wonder he was so deep in slumber. He’d been very athletic last night—and ever so much more fun than a silly game of curling. Drew, not Julius, was the conquering hero.

  He muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and reached out to throw an arm around her waist. A smile curved his lips and Charity resisted the impulse to kiss him awake.

  Instead, she eased from the bed and hurried to dress. She needed to be back at Wyecliffe Manor before the guests stirred. She certainly did not want to start gossip by arriving with Drew as an escort.

  She wanted to ask Drew to meet her later, to tell him she loved him, to thank him for discovering her secrets last night, and for answering her prayers. She looked for a sheet of paper in the drawer of the tiny escritoire in one corner, but could find nothing to leave him a note. Well, no matter. He would come to Wyecliffe when he’d bathed and dressed, and they would talk.

  Her head whirled with a list of the things she had to accomplish today. There was still the matter of Mackay’s baby to settle, an interview with Laura Tuxbury and her unfinished business with Julius Lingate. Though she had no idea what her future held, she hoped she would be strong enough to face him and apologize for leading him on for the past three years.

  Drew rapped solidly on the door of the last cottage in a back lane. Tucked safely inside his coat pocket was the linen hankie that had started this strange journey. ‘This was the delivery address the linen merchant had given him this morning when he found Drew waiting for him to open.

  He waited impatiently for the door to open, anxious to be done with this. His unfinished business with Miss Wardlow was much more pressing than this bit of meddling. She’d woken and left without a word. No note, no kiss goodbye, no maidenly tears of remorse for last night, no recriminations. ’Twas as if nothing had happened between them. Oh, but it had, and he wasn’t about to let her forget. He and the headstrong miss would come to a fast understanding or his name wasn’t—

  “Drew MacGregor!”

  He blinked. Ah, this explained everything. “Why if it isn’t Miss Lavinia Corbin,” he said. “How long has it been?”

  She pulled her paisley shawl a little closer around her and stepped aside for him to enter. “Years, Sir Andrew. I believe I was still…with Madame Fifi at the time. But what brings you to Great Tew? Oh, the wedding, of course.”

  He removed his hat and ducked beneath the low door lintel. “Aye. Edward has fallen victim to Cupid. But what are you doing here?”

  She gestured to a straight-back chair near the fire as an invitation to sit. He didn’t. “I’ve come to visit my cousin. But then, you know that since you have found me here. And why, may I ask? I always suspected I was not a favorite of yours.”

  Drew did not deny it. Lavinia Corbin had been taken out of a brothel to be mistress to a duke. After he had tired of her, she had taken lover after lover. Apparently, she had decided that bearing a lover’s child would secure her future.

  And now that Drew knew with whom he was dealing, this would not take long. He withdrew the handkerchief from his pocket and dropped it on the chair. Lavinia’s attention went to the piece of cloth, then back up to him. A cunning smile lit her face.

  “Did they send you to deal with me?”

  “They have no idea I am here. The last I heard, Edward refused to traffic with you at all.”

  “They must. If I do not receive a package from them by tonight, I shall be at the wedding tomorrow. I would be loath to cast a pall….”

  “But you would do it, just the same,” he finished.

  She sighed and waved one hand in a helpless gesture. “I have no other options, Sir Andrew.”

  “What will it take?”

  She sighed to indicate a difficult decision. “Ten thousand would keep me quite well.”

  He laughed at her audacity.

  She gave him a coy smile. “Of course, this will not relieve him of his obligations to little Lawrence.”

  “Lawrence? You named his baby after his brother?” That was a twisted logic even for Lavinia.

  Lavinia laughed, a melodic trill that had captured many of her lovers. “You think Lord Edward is little Lawrence’s sire? La! That is amusing. No, Lawrence is the father.”

  He hid his surprise. Even though he’d had faith in his friend, the conversation he and Charity overheard had been sufficiently vague as to create doubt.
But no matter the baby’s parentage, Mackay had not wanted his bride upset or their wedding day marred by scandal. Drew shrugged. A joyous day to celebrate and remember was the least he could give them. He removed a large wad of banknotes from the inside pocket of his vest and held them up.

  A greedy light flared in Lavinia’s dark eyes. She reached for the notes but he pulled them out of reach. “You’ll keep quiet?”

  She evaluated the size of the wad and shook her head. “They cannot buy me off so cheaply.”

  “They refused to buy you off at all. I am your only option. And believe me, Lavinia, it is nothing to me if you starve in a gutter or take yet another lover. I only want your assurance that you will leave Great Tew this afternoon and not return for a full month or more.”

  “Done!” she agreed, lunging for the banknotes.

  Charity hurried down the back stairs and turned along the corridor toward the small ladies’ retiring room that had been converted to the sewing room. The day was speeding by with all the preparations for the medieval feast being set up in the great hall and the final preparations for the wedding tomorrow.

  When she’d arrived back at Wyecliffe Manor this morning, all out of breath for running half the way, Grace was just stirring. She had sized Charity up with a knowing smile but asked no questions—bless her for her discretion—and reported that her interview with Lydia Foley revealed that the secret she held was a contribution to the Sailor’s Widows and Orphans Fund.

  Charity was relieved to realize that all that remained to be done was to have the hem marked on her bridesmaid gown, find Miss Tuxbury and quiz her about any secrets she might have—and she was certain to have one since everyone at Wyecliffe Manor did. Perhaps everyone in Great Tew. Now that everyone else had been eliminated, Miss Tuxbury was the last remaining candidate.

  Then she could wait for Drew to arrive from the village. She could not wait to see him again, and yet she was afraid. Heavens! The man had seen her naked! He’d…no! She couldn’t think of that or she’d collapse in a quivering puddle.