House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas

by Jennifer Haymore

  He moved his hands down her arms until they clasped her fingers. Raising her hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles.

  “I never meant to hurt you. The thought that I have…” He shook his head. “The last thing I ever wanted in this world was to hurt you.”

  She shrugged as if to dismiss it, yet he still could clearly see the shadows in her eyes and the tightness in her carefully schooled expression. “It happened many years ago.”

  “And you have held onto it for that long. It was why you refused to get into my carriage, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded tightly, glancing at the door again as if she wished to escape. Then she closed her eyes. “What a disaster this has been. I should have stayed home. I wish I’d listened to John about the weather.”

  That cut him. If she’d stayed in London, he’d have never made love to her. What she was ultimately saying now was that she regretted it. That it was a disaster.

  Shoving down his raw reaction to her words, he kept his voice even as he asked, “And miss being with your family for Christmas?”

  “I’m not with my family, though, am I?”

  “I still intend to have you to Cheltham House tomorrow.”

  “Do you think the storm will clear?”

  “It had better.” He was determined to get her home, even if the storm still raged. He’d find a way. It was one thing he could do to make things right.

  He touched her cheek, bringing her focus back to him. “Amelia.”

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. She allowed the kiss for scant seconds, then pulled back, her gaze unfocused. He held her soft jaw cupped in his palm for a few moments, then he dropped his hand and drew away.

  “I’ll fetch us some dinner,” he told her. “I’ll be back in a bit. Will you be all right?”

  She looked around, then nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  “I won’t be more than a few minutes,” he promised her.

  He tucked in his shirt, then pulled on his waistcoat and tailcoat and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. With singular purpose, he hurried to the tavern. The place was noisy, filled with a boisterous crowd of half-drunk men who’d been cooped up inside all day due to the storm.

  He made his way to the counter, waved to get the barmaid’s attention, and ordered a tray of supper for him and Amelia.

  “I’ll fetch it right quick for you, sir,” the girl told him, and scampered off.

  He waited for her, keeping his head down and hoping he wouldn’t encounter anyone he knew, wanting to hurry back to Amelia as soon as he had their dinner.

  But staying incognito was hopeless. A few minutes later, someone clapped him on the back. “Cameron! I thought that was you! How are you, my boy?”

  Evan looked into the face of Thomas Berwicke, a man of middling years and a neighbor who resided with his large family in the house that stood between Amelia’s father’s and his own.

  “I’m well,” he said politely. “How are you, Mr. Berwicke?”

  Berwicke settled on the stool next to his. “What brings you here?”

  “Heading home for Christmas,” Evan said.

  “But you were caught out in the storm?”

  “Exactly.”

  “As was I, old chap, as was I.” Berwicke’s gaze sharpened. “Thought I saw you coming in earlier. You had a woman with you, didn’t you? Looked a bit like Lady Amelia.”

  “Did it?” Evan said, keeping his voice mild.

  “Aye, it certainly did.”

  Evan sighed inwardly. Berwicke was the biggest busybody in the county. He’d known Evan and Amelia since they were children. Why, of all people, did he have to be here?

  Berwicke leaned forward conspiratorially. “So…was it Lady Amelia?”

  Evan turned a cold stare on the older man. “Of course it was not.”

  “Ahhhh.” Berwicke grinned. “I understand completely. You wish to be discreet.” He gave Evan a playful punch in the shoulder.

  The barmaid returned with a tray with two plates of steaming food and a bottle of wine—clearly enough food and drink for two. Evan leveled a glare upon Berwicke. “I’ll thank you to not speak of things you know nothing about.”

  Berwicke’s only response was a knowing chuckle as Evan took the tray and strode off.

  Chapter Four

  Evan kept his promise—he was only away for a few minutes to fetch the food. While he was gone, Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her thoughts going over what had happened in the past few hours.

  She’d gone from hating Evan Cameron to…something else. Something that felt hopeful to the point of being needy. Something that felt far too close to those naïve hopes that she’d harbored so long ago.

  It had surprised her when he’d said he’d informed his mother of his intention to marry her, because at ten years of age, she’d told her mother she intended to marry him. Her mother had patted her head and smiled. “We’ll see about that, darling,” she’d said in that kind voice an adult uses on a child who will someday know better.

  Then, that night when Amelia was sixteen, when her regard for Evan was at its pinnacle, along with her hopes, she’d overheard that conversation. His words had crushed her. Her confidence had fled, and it had taken years for her to find it again.

  Now she was almost twenty-four years old. She’d married, nursed a husband through a terrible illness that had resulted in his death, and she’d been a widow for two and a half years. She had rebuilt her pride as well as her self-confidence. Silly nicknames couldn’t hurt her anymore. Only at rare moments these days did she feel like the same person as that vulnerable sixteen-year-old girl.

  Yet that moment had shaped her life for the last seven years. And seeing Evan again rubbed at a weakness in the carefully constructed shields she’d so carefully built.

  She closed her eyes, remembering the flash of horror in his expression when he’d recalled the truth of what had happened that night. Yet he hadn’t denied that there’d been some truth in what he and Fletcher had said. If there was no truth to it, it wouldn’t have affected her in the way it had.

  She took a deep breath and stared down at her hands clasped in her lap.

  She had no expectations of Evan. He’d led a life quite separate from hers for seven years now. She had no idea of his plans for his future. She didn’t even know where he made his home these days.

  But he was still incredibly handsome, incredibly appealing. He’d wanted her, and she still wanted him.

  She had her own life, her own future. Even if Evan wasn’t fated to be part of that future, they had tonight. They had until the storm cleared, which could be days from now. It could be after Christmas.

  Her dormant feminine wiles had been roused enough to tell her that he still wanted her. She felt like some bold creature, someone entirely separate from her usual reserved self. But this was an opportunity for her to have passion, something she’d secretly wanted for so very long. If she had to cram a lifetime of yearning into one or two nights, then that was what she’d do.

  She’d be his this Christmas.

  The door handle rattled, and she jumped up to open the door for Evan. He walked in bearing a tray heaped with food and wine. She shut the door behind him and helped him to settle the tray on the bed. They sat on either side of it and began to share the tender morsels of meat and vegetables.

  Their eyes locked as he fed her the first bite of food, and her breath caught. He looked…well, goodness. He looked aroused by watching her eat. It only made her hungrier to watch his expression as he watched her.

  She took up a bit of beef on her fork and looked at him shyly as she lifted it toward his mouth. He bent down, intercepting the fork’s path and catching it with his teeth before sliding back with a closed mouth, leaving the fork clean.

  He chewed and swallowed, his eyes still on her, but when her tongue slipped out to lick her lips, his gaze dragged down to her mouth.

  They traded bites ba
ck and forth, slowly and leisurely, alternating between eating, talking, and taking sips of the fine red wine he’d brought for them.

  Finally they finished the food, and Evan gathered the plates onto the tray. “That was excellent.”

  She gave a fulfilled sigh and smiled at him. “It was.”

  “Wait here. I’m just going to get rid of these.” He gave her a wry grin. “There’s no room in here for these plates and us.”

  She waited, taking sips of wine as he left with the tray. He returned seconds later as she was glancing toward the window.

  It was dark as pitch outside now, and she could feel the frigid night air virtually seeping through the glass. “I wonder if the storm’s letting up,” she murmured.

  “I checked when I went to fetch our dinner. It doesn’t appear to be.”

  She sighed, concern about her parents and sisters worrying about her twisting in her stomach. What if they came looking for her? She hoped they wouldn’t do something so dangerous; she hoped they’d know she would have sense enough to secure shelter for herself.

  He slid back onto the bed and reached his hand out, gesturing for her to join him. She took his hand and let him pull her up beside him. When they were settled, hip to hip, he refilled her glass of wine.

  She leaned against him. His body was all hard angles and planes, but her curves seemed to mold perfectly against him.

  He slid his arm around her, fitting her closer to him, and she sighed with contentment. They sat in silence for a long while, sipping at their wine. Finally, Evan said, “I’m sorry our journeys were interrupted. But I’m not sorry we were able to spend this time together.”

  “If I wasn’t so worried about my family, I’d say it was worth it.”

  “Would you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it hasn’t been a complete disaster, then?”

  She heard the hesitance in his tone, and something inside her clenched hard. She’d hurt him when she’d said this was a disaster.

  “No,” she said carefully. “When I said that…I didn’t mean I regretted being with you.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No. It was just…” She let her eyes sink shut. “It was just that I was reliving the past. I usually try to avoid thinking about the past as much as possible, but with you…”

  “I don’t want to relive the past with you, Amelia,” he said. “I want to be with you in the here and now.”

  She looked up at him, battering back the shyness that welled up inside her. “I do, too,” she said softly. “And I don’t regret what happened earlier. That wasn’t a disaster…it was…” Her voice dwindled, because how could she express all that their lovemaking had meant to her with mere words?

  “Yes,” he agreed firmly. “It was.”

  “I want it to happen again,” she whispered.

  He nodded, his eyes darkening as he regarded her. “So do I.”

  She brought her wine glass to her lips and took a sip.

  His voice roughened. “I want to make love to you, Amelia. I want to make you mine.”

  “I want to be yours,” she murmured. “For as long as we are here, I want nothing more.”

  He stroked a finger down her jaw. “God, how I love that voice of yours. So sweet and shy.”

  Her cheeks heated.

  “I want you to come hard, Amelia,” he continued, his voice growing silkier with each word. “I want you to come under my hand and against my tongue and around my cock.”

  The hand holding her wine glass froze halfway down. She sucked in a breath. Could he do that? Make her come in all those ways?

  She wanted him to.

  Carefully, he unclenched her fingers from around the stem of the glass and set it aside. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

  His kiss began as a tender caress. Leisurely, soft swipes of warm pleasure over her mouth, moving to her cheeks and jaw and then down her neck as he slowly divested her of her clothes. Soon, she wore only her chemise. He grasped the hem and dragged the skirt up her leg, his fingers trailing over her skin, then her hip and her side, caressing the edge of her breast as he tugged it up.

  He pulled away, his heated kisses leaving her momentarily as he encouraged her to sit then lifted the chemise over her head.

  She was naked. He’d removed his tailcoat and waistcoat before they’d eaten, but otherwise he was still fully dressed.

  She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. She refused to be outwardly self-conscious with him, but inwardly she couldn’t help it. Her stomach felt like a million butterflies fluttered about inside it.

  His gaze raked over her. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and kissed its side tenderly. Then he lifted his face, still cupping her breast, his expression soft as he studied her. “Amelia. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  His tone—one of awe—settled most of the butterflies, replacing them with warm arousal and building need.

  He really did find her beautiful. He wasn’t lying to her. She could see it in the glow of appreciation in his eyes; in the thick outline of his erection against his trousers.

  He glanced down to where her gaze rested between his legs, then looked back up at her, his expression a touch sheepish. He shrugged. “I can’t help what you do to me. You’re a goddess. I wish I could carve you in marble and gaze at you all day.”

  “You’re beautiful, too,” she murmured, smiling. “But I’d wager you’d be even more beautiful if you took off that shirt.”

  “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

  In one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the foot of the bed, exposing his torso.

  She sucked in her breath. It had been a long while since she’d glimpsed a man’s upper half, and this one was by far the most devastatingly handsome she’d ever seen. Wide, muscular shoulders led to a powerful chest, a chiseled abdomen, and narrow hips.

  Amelia’s mouth went dry. He was such a beautiful specimen of virility.

  “Do you like what you see?” he asked.

  She nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

  “I’m glad. Come here.” He gathered her into his arms and pulled her close. Her breasts smashed against his warm, hard chest, and a deep shudder ran through her. She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

  His fingers ran through her hair, gently combing through the tangles as he held her. Then he was kissing her again, his velvety lips grazing her hairline, moving over her cheeks and nose, then to her lips as he laid her onto her back on the bed.

  He pulled away but remained close enough that they traded breaths. She gazed up at him in the flickering lamplight.

  “You’re mine tonight, Amelia.”

  She held onto him, her fingers tracing the hard muscles of his arms. “I’m yours,” she whispered. “Tonight, every part of me is yours.”

  “You’re all I ever wanted.”

  After so many years thinking the opposite was true, she could hardly believe his words. They went against the very core of her beliefs that had been forged that night so long ago.

  But with his words, his touches, the way he looked at her—he was beginning to reawaken the part of her that could believe. And more than anything, that scared her.

  He bent down to her breasts and focused all his attention on them, kissing, licking, kneading, before bringing his lips to her nipple. And just like that, the quickly building need eclipsed all her trepidation.

  She wanted him. More than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

  He swiped his tongue over her nipple, his touch firm, wet, and warm, and it contracted into a hard peak, so sensitive that she gasped and squirmed the next time he licked it. His hand clamped over her shoulder, keeping her anchored firmly to the bed, as his lips encircled her.

  Sensation shot through her, powerful ripples of desire and tingling, agonizing sweetness. She thrust her hand into his soft, thick brown hair and pulled him tighter against he
r chest.

  He suckled her, giving equal attention to both breasts, until she was gasping for air. Until she was so desperate, so ripe with need, every inch of her skin ached.

  Nibbling and licking her skin, he moved downward, kissing the under slopes of her breasts, her ribs, and her belly, making appreciative noises—she heard “lovely” and “beautiful” each more than once. His hands seemed to touch her everywhere at the same time. They moved over her breasts, the curves of her waist, her hipbones and her stomach.

  He placed one warm, heavy hand on her thigh. His expression was intent as he gazed down at her.

  She’d never thought she could be this brave, but the brazen, confident part of her wanted to show him everything. Wanted to bare herself completely.

  He nudged her legs apart and nestled his body between them.

  She widened her legs to accommodate him, and he blew out a breath of appreciation. “So pretty,” he murmured.

  His approval sent a new flush of desire through her.

  When his mouth touched her mound, she jumped and squealed softly in surprise.

  “Shhh.” He pressed a gentle kiss to that most private part of her and she melted with a sigh. His lips felt so exquisite on her, his licks so smooth and tender.

  Using his fingers to open her, he stroked her in a motion that sent that sweet sensation rippling through her, and then followed the trail with his lips and tongue.

  “Oh, Evan,” she breathed.

  “Mmm,” he said against her sensitized flesh. “You taste so good, Amelia. Like heat and spice and woman. I could feast on you forever.”

  Amelia gave herself over to the pleasure he wrought. It was Evan who touched her. For so long, she’d harbored innocent, girlish dreams of his kiss. Now it had gone so far past an innocent kiss. Now, he was doing wicked, carnal things to her, things she’d never imagined. And she loved it.

  He stroked his fingers over her as his tongue circled the little nub between her legs. One finger slid inside her, then two.