House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas

by Jennifer Haymore

  And then the carriage stopped again.

  Evan frowned and looked out the window. He’d been so engrossed in Amelia he’d lost track of time.

  Through the thick curtain of snow, he saw a row of thatched buildings. “Looks like we’re in Postcombe.”

  “But why have we stopped?” she asked.

  “I have no idea.” He opened the door and stepped out. Wind whipped his hair against his cheeks and sent snow swirling around his legs.

  Joseph climbed down from the driver’s seat. “Sir,” he said, approaching Evan, “the weather’s worse. The wind’s picked up and the snowdrifts are growing quite deep. I wouldn’t want us to get stuck in a drift in the middle of nowhere. John here and I have agreed that it would be too dangerous to forge ahead. I suggest we spend the night at the inn and continue on in the morning.”

  For the first time in a long while, Evan took in his surroundings. Joseph was right. The snow was gathering in deep drifts in the street, and his boots were buried shin-deep.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. He’d wanted to safely deliver Amelia to her family tonight. But Joseph was right. It wouldn’t be wise to risk it. There wasn’t any lodging that would be appropriate for a lady of Amelia’s stature between here and Cheltham House.

  She had slipped out behind him, her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Clearly, she’d been paying as little attention to the weather as he had.

  He turned to her, feeling the frown deepen between his brows. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “We’re going to have to spend the night here.”

  Chapter Two

  Back in the carriage, where she was hiding from the weather while Evan secured their rooms at the inn, Amelia sighed. Though she’d tried to be polite with him for the past hour, she’d been stewing in inner turmoil the whole time.

  He was insanely handsome. More handsome than she remembered, and she’d already remembered him as the handsomest boy she’d ever known. His proximity did all sorts of wicked things to her body, made her skin feel sensitive and achy, and an intense erotic need furled between her legs. Everything about him called to her on a most carnal level, from the way he spoke to her to the hardness of his body to the rugged planes of his face, and her desire had grown ever stronger as the miles had rolled beneath the wheels of the carriage.

  But her body didn’t know what her mind did—he was also the cruelest boy she’d ever known. He’d pretended to admire her, but in reality he’d scorned her behind her back. After she’d discovered that, she’d struggled for years with her self-confidence. Even now, after years of people admiring her beauty publicly, she sometimes still looked in the mirror and saw the pudgy, unattractive girl that Evan Cameron had seen for so many years.

  She’d resolved herself to spending another few hours with him in his carriage, then escaping to Cheltham House, hopefully not having to see him again before she returned to London next month. But now they were stranded in Postcombe, and politeness would dictate he dine with her and ensure her comfort at the inn, then break his fast with her in the morning before the additional two-hour—or longer, with snow on the road—drive to her father’s house. Which meant more interaction with him than she thought she could bear.

  She took a deep breath. She would bear it. First of all, she had no choice. Secondly, she was no simpering maiden. Not anymore.

  It was what it was. Neither of them could control the weather. She would endure this with as good a nature as she could muster.

  Evan slipped into the carriage beside her, his frown even deeper than it had been before. He wrestled with the wind over the door, finally gaining control and slamming it shut, before turning to her and saying in a low voice, “They haven’t any rooms.”

  Her eyes went wide. “What? Why not?”

  “The Duke of Dunsberg and his entourage were on their way to Oxford, and they were caught in the storm as well. They’ve taken all the available rooms.”

  “Oh no.”

  “The innkeeper did offer us lodgings, however…” Evan continued hesitantly. He took a breath. “It’s not a room so much as a closet. But they’ve an extra bed they can put in there for us.”

  “Ah,” she said quietly.

  Finally, he met her gaze. “I fear this is our only option. I will sleep on the floor, of course. I would not…er…take advantage of the situation in any way. I give you my word.”

  Could this day get any worse? Amelia stifled a groan. She wasn’t worried about Evan not being a gentleman; she was far, far more worried about herself not being a lady. Lord knew what a fool she’d made of herself in his proximity in the past. And the way her body was responding to him…she felt like a giant magnet inexorably drawn to his compelling force. Her skin was prickly and hot, aching all over. And something told her that only his touch could soothe that kind of pain.

  She pressed her lips together, knowing full well she needed to somehow find a way to put an end to these erotic thoughts. “What about Joseph and John?”

  “They’ve arranged for extra pallets to be brought into the stable lofts for the male servants.”

  She gave a short nod. He probably read the trepidation on her face as shrewish disapproval, but she couldn’t help it. “Well, then. It appears there’s no other choice.”

  * * *

  Once the innkeeper had settled them inside the room, Amelia sat on the edge of the narrow bed in mute horror. Evan had been right—the place was little larger than a closet, with one tiny square window high up on the wall above the bed, and a doorway even Amelia had to duck to pass through.

  Worse, there was no place for him on the floor. The bed filled the entire space.

  Evan lowered himself next to her, and she stiffened at his proximity. They both stared at the planked, arched wooden door for a moment. If she reached out from the foot of the bed, she could grasp the door handle.

  It was going to be a very, very long night.

  “Mr. Johnson said supper will be served in the common room at eight,” Evan said.

  She shook her head. “I cannot go.”

  Evan’s brows rose. “Why not?”

  “Because the Duke of Dunsberg knows me. If he and his friends discover I’m spending the night with a gentleman here, the rumors”—she faltered for a moment, then finished—“will not be kind.”

  Again the furrow appeared between Evan’s brows. “Right. Of course. I’ve been away from England for so long, it seems I’ve forgotten the basic tenets of gossip and scandal. I won’t go either, in that case. I’ll bring you a supper then stay with you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Cameron—”

  “Evan.”

  “—but you needn’t feel coerced to stay in here on account of me.”

  He grinned, and it was such a brilliant, blinding smile, her heart began to pound in reaction. Good Lord, he was an appealing man, completely grown out of that youthful softness he’d possessed when she’d last known him. Now, he was harshly masculine in a way that made her more aware of her femininity than she’d ever been before.

  She turned away, closing her eyes against the fantasy of licking that little cleft in his chin.

  He touched her arm. “It’s going to be all right, Pudge.”

  She stiffened further, her muscles tightening in her stomach and across her shoulders. “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it is cruel.”

  “But I’ve always called you that.” He sounded confused. “Everyone called you that. It was your nickname from babyhood. No one meant it as a cruelty.”

  She sighed. When she was fifteen, she’d asked her parents to stop calling her Pudge, and they’d understood her dislike of the name and had immediately complied. The children of the neighborhood hadn’t given it up as easily, however, especially since she’d been too shy to ask them directly to stop.

  In any case, he was deluded if he thought it hadn’t been a cruelty. “I know everyone called me that. But I don’t like it.”
/>   He froze. “Wait,” he said. “You don’t like it now, or you never liked it?”

  She turned back to him, looking up into his handsome face. That little cleft enhanced a strong jaw that was covered by a dark, rough-looking stubble. His lips, by contrast, looked impossibly soft and kissable. His nose was a straight blade, his cheekbones prominent, and his dark eyes were encased by darker, long lashes.

  “I never liked it,” she told him.

  His brows crept upward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would it have stopped you from using it as my nickname?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  She sighed and tore her gaze from him to study her fingers twisting in her lap. Honestly, looking at this man for too long had the unwelcome side effects of not only turning her brain into jelly but making her flesh hot and prickly and needy.

  Gently but firmly, he took her chin in his hand and turned her head so she was forced to look at him again.

  “I never meant it in any negative way,” he told her.

  She raised a skeptical brow.

  “It’s true. I always thought of your nickname with the ultimate fondness.”

  She made a scoffing noise in her throat.

  He lowered his hand from her jaw, looking utterly confused by her disbelief.

  “When a girl is reminded each and every time she sees a boy of how fat and unattractive she is,” she said quietly, “the truth of it eventually becomes embedded in her mind.”

  He recoiled in such horror she would have laughed if it hadn’t been over a topic that had caused her such heartache. “I never thought of you as fat and unattractive!”

  “You called me Pudge, Evan. Pudge. Do you know what that implies?”

  “Well—” He scratched his head. If she didn’t know better, she’d find the bewildered expression on his face endearing. “I suppose I do. But I never defined the word in my head when I was referring to you, nor did I think it defined you in any way. It was a term of endearment, for Christ’s sake. I never meant anything bad by it.”

  He seemed genuinely befuddled and distraught. Amelia didn’t understand it. How could you call someone such a horrid thing for so long and expect it not to intrinsically affect that person?

  “Is that…” He hesitated, frowning, then said, “Is that why you were so angry with me when you first saw me today?”

  Her eyelids slammed shut. She didn’t want to discuss this. Not here, not now. Not ever.

  “Amelia, tell me. I need to know. I need to make this right.”

  She opened her eyes, forcing a smile to curve her lips. “Really, it is nothing. It all happened so long ago. Can we talk about something else?”

  “What happened so long ago?” he asked.

  Oh, dear. “Nothing. You calling me by that awful nickname,” she said. “That’s all I meant.” A lie, of course. She’d never been much of a liar, but she was willing to become one to extricate herself from the direction in which this conversation was headed.

  He shook his head, clearly not believing her. But then he shocked her. “I think you’re lovely. I always have.”

  She gazed into his liquid brown eyes, so soft as they studied her. And something inside her began to simmer.

  They sat close to each other by necessity, given the miniature dimensions of the room. He smelled so good, of leather and shaving lotion, and before she realized what she was doing, she leaned forward, her head tilting upward, her lids falling to half-mast, and breathed him in.

  He seemed to have the same idea, for their noses bumped. Amelia began to pull back, but his hands closed on her shoulders, locking her in place.

  “Amelia,” he said in a hoarse whisper. The warmth of his breath washed over her cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You…?”

  The press of his lips against hers cut her off. She froze. But his lips were so warm, so soft; his hard body was so close to hers, and he smelled so good…

  Lord, she’d missed him, too. How desperately she’d missed him.

  Her lips parted, and she kissed him back, exploring his soft, warm lips wantonly with her own. She couldn’t help it. It was the only response she could make to his touch. There was no denying her need for this—for him.

  With a low groan, he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss into something sweet yet so erotic, carnal need burned between her legs.

  His tongue swiped along her upper lip, and she sucked in a surprised breath.

  He jerked back. His cheeks were flushed. They both were breathing in harsh pants. Amelia’s heart felt like it was going to pound straight out of her chest. But she was on fire. Burning, and there was only one person who could douse these particular flames: the man pulling away from her.

  “Hell,” he rasped, a deeply mournful edge to his voice. “I’m so sorry. I promised you I’d be a gentleman, and we haven’t been alone in this room for ten minutes and I’m already…Hell. I won’t touch you again. I swear it. You’re just so goddamned beautiful, and so sweet, and the look in your eyes—I couldn’t stop myself—I needed to taste you.” He jumped to his feet and looked down at her, his eyes dark and his brow twisted in anguish. “I’m so sorry. Say you’ll forgive me, Amelia. I know it was inexcusable, but—”

  She stood, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down to her, and planted her lips on his once more. She needed him to stop talking. Stop apologizing. She just needed to kiss him, feel those soft, delicious lips against her mouth again.

  She’d been kissed before. But it had never, ever felt like this. It had never aroused such a deep yearning. It had never been Evan who had kissed her.

  Evan. The boy she’d loved throughout her entire childhood but had always thought too handsome, too strong, and too appealing for the likes of her.

  He’d called her lovely. Said he’d always thought her lovely. He was here again, after being absent from her life for so long.

  And he was kissing her.

  It was such a potent combination. Desire boiled in her, becoming need, becoming something she couldn’t deny. Something she didn’t want to deny.

  She ran her hands over his back, but she needed more. The fabric of his coat was too thick. Keeping her lips locked to his, she pushed her hands around to his front and impatiently unbuttoned his coat, thrusting it off his shoulders. His hands moved from their clasp around her for a moment while he shook off the unwanted garment. She went to work on his waistcoat, and when it was off, she yanked the tails of his shirt from his trousers.

  She kissed him nonstop, ever deeper, unable to drink in enough of his warm, masculine taste. She pressed her mouth over his jaw, testing the abrasion of his afternoon bristle against her skin, and then she brushed her lips, then her tongue, over that cleft in his chin that she’d fantasized about tasting. She nearly groaned with the pleasure of it.

  Finally, finally, she could touch him. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t wanted to touch him. She needed this desperately. She pushed her hands under his shirt and raked her fingers up and down his back, gasping at the strength of the rippling muscles beneath her fingertips.

  He was strong, so masculine and virile. Her skin ached for more. Her core clenched in deep, rhythmic pulses. Every inch of her body, inside and out, cried out in heated desire, and she rubbed against him, trying to soothe some of that intense need.

  She’d already removed her coat and pelisse, and his fingers deftly tracked down her back, popping open buttons. He pushed down her green muslin traveling dress along with her petticoat and chemise, leaving her shoulders bare. His lips grazed her neck, and she tilted her head back in offering as he moved downward, his teeth gently marking her, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

  He moved to her shoulders, igniting her skin everywhere he touched it, fueling that heat that had been kindling inside of her since she first laid eyes on him earlier today.

  She gripped his back, the skin warm and firm beneath her palms.

  His mouth moved lower, over the
upper swell of her breast. His tongue swiped along the top edge of her stays as his hand bunched her skirt, pulling it up, dragging her body even more tightly against his, grinding his hardened sex against her belly.

  Without removing his lips from her body, he nudged her back onto the bed until they were both seated on its edge again. His fingers rimmed the top edge of her garter and then moved up, sliding over her bare thigh.

  She shuddered violently as he drew closer to her center, and then his fingers cupped the curls that hid her womanhood, and she gasped, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder.

  He parted the lips of her sex, his fingertips stroking, caressing.

  “God, Amelia,” he murmured. “You’re so slick. So hot. Is that for me?”

  “Evan.” Her voice shook. She gripped him tighter, her lips moving over his collar, her tongue tasting the masculine, salty flavor of his neck.

  Slowly, he pushed a finger inside her.

  “Oh!” she cried out, her body arching against him.

  He pulled almost all the way out and then slid into her again, stroking against her sensitive walls.

  “You’re so tight, Amelia. So sweet. God,” he groaned, his lips gliding over her chin and chest then pressing soft kisses against the top of her breast, “I want you. I want you around my cock.”

  “So do I.” She nearly groaned it. She wanted him more than anything. Wanted to feel him pushing inside her. Wanted him to claim her so deep and so hard he’d mark her forever.

  Keeping his hand between her legs, still working his finger into her slick inner flesh, making her pant and squirm with the wonder of it, he moved to lie on his side of the bed, dragging her down with him. She came willingly, mindless from the fire of pleasure he stoked between her legs.