His Mistletoe Wager

by Virginia Heath

  ‘I am more than lovely. I am irresistible. It is a wonder you can keep your hands off me.’

  He had meant it as a glib remark, she knew. He was playing the flirty, charming scoundrel again to make her smile, as if his selflessness on her behalf was of no matter. But the simple truth was she very much wanted to kiss him again, realising this was her last chance. Their last chance. With all the misery and heartbreak cluttering the horizon she deserved this memory. One which she could cling to like a rock in a stormy sea. A real memory of what it should be like between a man and a woman.

  They were here alone, in the dead of night, sat on her bed and wrapped in each other’s arms. All at once, she ruthlessly banished all thoughts of tomorrow and the direness of her situation. Lizzie would have to face that again soon enough. For now, she had tonight. And him. The man her heart yearned for. The one who made her bare skin ache for his touch and her body want. Need pulsed in her core. Her fingers traced the day’s growth of stubble on his cheek reverently. To her complete surprise, her own voice came out thickly. Breathless. ‘Seeing as you have bought a bank and climbed the wisteria, we might as well make the visit worthwhile.’

  He pulled away then. Offended. ‘You know that is not what I came here for.’

  Lizzie pressed one finger to his lips. ‘I know. You would never come up here to seduce me. You are far too noble to use your good deeds so shamelessly.’ She twisted her body to sit astride his lap, watched his eyes darken and revelled in the surge of feminine need now coursing through her veins. ‘I am not so noble or good. Tonight I want to be shameless. I don’t want you to leave, Hal.’

  ‘You really don’t need to...’ His hands came to her waist to push her away, so she grabbed them and smoothed them shamelessly over her breasts. Pushed her pebbled nipples eagerly into his palms to prove to him he was what her body wanted. That she was serious.

  ‘Right now all I can think about is you. Only part of that is out of gratitude. The rest is pure, unadulterated lust.’ Lust that would give her something to sustain her through the bleak years ahead. Memories of Hal. This man she loved.

  ‘Every time you touch me, I want. Every time you kiss me, I want.’ Lizzie leaned closer so that her lips grazed his cheek. ‘I never thought I was capable of wanting a man again. I was done with all men...until you, Hal. We have twelve days left together and I am tired of denying myself. I’m sure a man with your reputation knows how to make love to a woman without creating a child, so what is the harm? I’m tired of feeling frightened and miserable, and I want to fully enjoy this Christmas. I want to enjoy you.’

  From somewhere within, Lizzie became a seductress. It seemed to be an entirely natural state to be in with him. Natural and necessary. She trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses across his jaw and nipped at his ear. She could feel Hal warring with his own conscience as he sat still beneath her. Rigid. His breathing was erratic, but his hands still cupped her breasts even after she released them and allowed her own fingers to begin to explore the breadth of his shoulders and chest through the unwelcome barrier of his clothing.

  When she brought her lips back to his mouth, he failed to respond, but his eyes closed and he allowed the pad of one thumb to circle the aching point of her nipple. When she moaned her enjoyment, then shuffled her knees forward, her nightdress riding up her thighs as she fought to get closer, she felt the unmistakable bulge of his hardness through his breeches and knew he was as desperate for the act as she was.

  He wanted her, too.

  All the pent-up passion and yearning she felt for him was not one-sided. It made no difference that there was no future for them beyond the next few days, there seemed little point in denying the desire which burned between them. She was long past ruined and about to be the capital’s greatest scandal. One night of passion with a notorious rake would not make one whit of difference any more.

  Lizzie traced the outline of his mouth with her tongue while her fingers quickly undid the buttons on his waistcoat. He made no attempt to stop her nor did he succumb to her ministrations. All the while, his thumb, the only part of him not being noble, still lazily circled her nipple until she thought she would scream from the wanting. Lord, he was stubborn! Why wouldn’t he take what she wanted to freely give?

  Like a woman possessed, she grabbed the hem of her nightgown and wrenched it over her head, baring herself fully to his eyes and then sat back, forcing him to look at her. His gaze caressed her body in the absence of his hands. His mossy-green eyes darkened further as his pupils dilated. They fixed on her nipples and unconsciously he licked his lips.

  ‘I didn’t come here to bed you.’

  ‘And I won’t let you leave here till you do.’ She slid off his lap and walked brazenly to the window. Locked it. Closed the curtains. Then watched his eyes follow her naked body to the door. Lizzie turned the key and removed it from the lock and smiled like the most practised of courtesans as she tossed it aimlessly across the room; standing shamelessly with her hands saucily placed on her hips and a knowing smile curving her mouth.

  His face was inscrutable and for several seconds he simply stared back at her, impassive...aside from his glorious erratic breathing. But then his eyes betrayed him and began to rake her body from top to bottom with barely concealed hunger. Imbued with a new sense of womanly confidence, Lizzie slowly closed the distance between them, her gaze never leaving his.

  ‘You cannot compromise me. That has already happened. And I am not interested in trapping you into marriage like some of your baying hordes. I won’t marry you, Hal. I won’t marry anyone. When this surprising Christmas season draws to a close, and all of this nonsense is done, I am leaving London whatever happens and never plan to return. We shall have to say goodbye. It would be silly to deprive ourselves because of your misplaced nobility and your ridiculous notion that I am only offering myself to you because I am grateful, don’t you think? Especially when I want you. All of you. And you know me well enough to know I am not inclined to do anything I don’t want to. Now...’ she stood inches away, her teeth grazed the warm skin just below his ear and she heard his stifled groan ‘...the burning question is: are you going to be a good boy, Hal, and give me what I want for Christmas or do I have to take it?’

  Another groan; this one considerably more guttural. Almost angry. ‘I think you are going to have to take it.’ But his eyes were filled with need as they locked hotly with hers.

  ‘So be it.’

  He put up no resistance when she pushed his waistcoat from his shoulders. Sat impassively as she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his breeches. Almost. Because he moved his arms upwards to allow her to peel the linen from his body.

  With impressive arrogance, he sat back on his hands while she tugged off each boot, then fumbled with the falls of his trousers, and watched her through passion-darkened, hooded eyes as she worked the buckskin down over his hips until he sat gloriously naked before her. Gloriously naked and completely aroused.

  Just for her.

  It was a magnificent sight.

  Because she had to, she leaned down to kiss him. A thorough and decadent kiss which he took full part in, yet aside from the intimacy of their mouths, no other part of their bodies touched. It was the most erotic and intoxicating moment of her life. To be so close to him, both of them naked and eager, yet never to have experienced the touch of the other on their bare skin.

  Lizzie caved first, smoothing her palms over his chest, and tracing the dusting of dark hair down his hard abdomen. As her fingers grazed his navel, Hal groaned. One large hand encircled her waist and tugged until she tumbled on top of him. ‘You are going to kill me, woman!’

  ‘Can you think of a better way to die?’

  ‘Inside you. That would be perfect.’

  She had to agree. She had never been more ready to give herself. Was desperate to give herself to him.

  Hal
rolled so their positions were reversed, then reverently pulled the ribbon from her hair. He used his fingers to tease out the plait, then spread her hair across the pillow to form a halo about her head. Satisfied with his arrangement, he lazily explored every curve of her body with one fingertip. The sensitive column of her neck. Her collarbone. Breast. The indent of her waist and the flare of her hip. The subtle undulation where her calf met her knee. Then back up again via a different route. It finally came to rest on the soft, golden triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs.

  ‘I knew you would be beautiful. I never imagined you would be this beautiful.’

  When he kissed her, Lizzie felt it everywhere and sighed into his mouth. Of its own accord her body arched towards his hand—but it was her breasts he worshipped next. Loving her nipples with his tongue until she was writhing against the mattress and begging him to take her.

  But still he would not be hurried. His lips followed the same convoluted path across her fevered skin his hands had already explored. He kissed every inch of her. Rolled her on her front and nipped and nibbled his way down her back and smiled smugly when she protested before they shifted position again. The intensity of his stare emboldened her and she knew instinctively he adored what he saw. To him she was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world.

  ‘I want you now, Hal.’ Every sense was heightened. Screaming for release. It was she who pushed his hand towards her sex, opening for him willingly. Shamelessly. She had never felt so deliciously unashamed before. So determined to find her own pleasure. ‘Touch me.’

  With the same torturously gentle motion he had used on her breasts, his fingers moved in tiny circles. Every nerve ending came alive and zeroed in on one tiny spot, and all at once she realised that Rainham had not known a damn thing about the act of love. With him it had been quick and frantic and ultimately awkward. An invasion. With Hal it was a celebration. A revelation. Utter, utter carnal bliss at the hands of a true master.

  Her fingers found his hardness and explored it. So hot. So hard. Touching him was addictive. Her wits were scrambled. Limbs leaden yet quivering. Her body hovering on the cusp of something wondrous yet almost painful. She had never experienced a fiery need like it. Instinct told her to curl her palm around him and caress his length in long, firm strokes, feeling powerful when she saw the effect it had on him. His breathing became ragged and his eyes fluttered closed. Her name tumbled from his lips like a benediction. Then, with an animalistic sound he pushed her hands away from him and held them pinned gently above her head on the pillow. His gaze dropped and she allowed her thighs to fall open in invitation, no longer sure who was the seducer and who had been seduced. It made no difference. They were both too consumed with each other to think of anything except what they were about to do.

  Lizzie thought he would take her quickly and put them both out of their torment, but he didn’t. Their faces inches apart, they watched each other as he gently eased inside. Slowly filling her until he was buried to the hilt.

  Only then did he start to move. Again, with measured, aching slowness until she could stand it no more. She wanted everything and all of him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pinning him to her core, and she used her own hips to find the satisfaction she craved, driving them both mad. At some point, he must have succumbed to the madness, too. She had no clear memory of when that was amidst the vortex of new sensations buffeting her, before she knew it they were writhing together, wordlessly lost in each other. Moaning and kissing and frantically touching until a dazzling light exploded behind her eyes and her body shattered around him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hal stared contentedly at the ceiling and enjoyed doing something he never did. Cuddling up to a sleeping woman in her bed hours after he had made love to her. Usually, when it came to sleeping, he much preferred the whole bed to himself. His own bed. Wherever that happened to be. Not that he was the sort of heartless rogue to dash out of a lady’s bedchamber as if his breeches were on fire the moment the deed was done. He had too much respect for women for that and enjoyed their company immensely even when his passion was spent. He always stayed for a little while. Chatted. Made them laugh. Then pretended to bid them a reluctant farewell with whatever convenient excuse worked best to extricate him from the situation as painlessly as possible. He was fairly certain none of his former paramours had been offended by his departure.

  Mind you, the women he favoured tended to be the more worldly-wise widows, the younger, neglected wives of older husbands, seasoned mistresses, actresses and opera singers. Most of them knew how the game was played. They were probably as relieved to see him leave as he was to be leaving.

  Yet here he was, happily still ensconced in Lizzie’s bed, his arm curled loosely about her hip while his nose nuzzled the crown of her head, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself. For the first time in his life he felt totally at home, a state he had found himself in perpetually since Lizzie had seduced him on Christmas Day.

  Home.

  That word and this woman seemed synonymous. No matter how many times he hauled himself up the wisteria or how many times he had made love to her since that first splendid night, try as he might he could not explain away the odd, comforting glow he had whenever he was around her. His excuses always fell ever so slightly short. Having now got to know her completely, having lost himself in her delightful body repeatedly and having spent more hours than he cared to count absorbed in her company at the numerous festivities they attended, he was prepared to acknowledge it was not just his head that he had lost.

  Somewhere in the last few weeks he had lost his heart to her too. Hal genuinely lived to see her smile. He had been so preoccupied with making her happy he had quite lost sight of everything else. That was a bad case of love if there ever was one—although not quite as daunting as he had always believed it to be.

  It did not matter that he was still the wrong side of thirty and still far too young to settle down. There were no more wild oats to sow. Why would he consider making love to any other woman when the only one his missing vigour wanted was right here? Thanks to a silly sprig of mistletoe, fate had decided it was time Hal took a wife. Lizzie. The most passionate, beautiful and noble woman in the whole world. Loving Lizzie, marrying Lizzie, felt intrinsically right.

  Unfortunately, the stubborn wench had declared she had no desire to marry him.

  Repeatedly.

  A stumbling block, to be sure, but hardly an insurmountable one. When he had first met her, Hal had likened Lizzie to a fortress. Guarded. Surrounded by high battlements and with only one sturdy and unpredictable drawbridge. There were, however, no weak corners. Once the woman made up her mind, it was set. While he had basked in the euphoria of their lovemaking between bouts of fevered passion, Lizzie had talked on and on about her plans for her new life.

  In the north, for goodness sake! Without him.

  As if he was going to allow that to happen.

  But there was no point in arguing with her when she was nobly sacrificing her own happiness—their happiness—because of the misguided belief he would be much better off without her or that the horrendous scandal she feared was about to imminently blow up in her face. Hal had even allowed her to make jokes about the future Countess of Redbridge, a woman with a reputation so pristine and shiny he would need to shade his eyes from the golden goodness radiating off her. It had soured his splendid mood until he discovered the perfect way to shut her up was to have his wicked way with her again.

  As if a man like him, who had been in more strange beds than he cared to count, who was on first-name terms with the proprietors of every unsavoury gaming hell from here to John o’ Groats and one who had bared himself to the amassed ton at the Serpentine one sunny Sunday afternoon, could tolerate an eternity with a woman so dull?

  At times her determined pessimism was laughable, yet the underlying sadness he kne
w she masked with false gaiety for his sake—or her son’s or her father’s—broke his heart and, no matter how hard he tried, he could not convince her that she was not doomed because he would fix it.

  She would try to distract him with passion and Hal had a talent for distracting her quite thoroughly as well. Hence she was now sleeping peacefully in his arms and he was enjoying the sight of her wistfully smiling in her sleep. Wistful smiles that he had created and that he had every intention of creating until he was dragged, kicking and screaming, from this mortal coil and buried six feet under the ground.

  Fortress Lizzie was in for a shock if she seriously thought he was going to marry anyone else aside from her. And vice versa. He still had one whole day until Twelfth Night ended. One last day to breach her defences and make her see sense. In the absence of any corners to mine beneath, Hal was going to lay siege and systematically whittle the blasted woman down until she surrendered to his way of thinking. Tonight he would send the weasel Ockendon packing and they would be able to get on with their lives. It was just a shame all Hal’s attempts to find Rainham had amounted to nothing. With Rainham firmly in his pocket, Lizzie would finally accept her dreadful ordeal was over and then perhaps...

  He heaved a sigh and she stirred. Her face emerged from a tangle of hair and she appeared delighted to see him. Because he could, Hal ran his palm over her bottom possessively. ‘Good morning. I hope you slept well.’

  He watched her lips curve upwards. Neither of them had slept much last night. As the month got shorter Lizzie appeared to want to sleep less and less. Today, he knew with irritated certainty, she intended to say goodbye to him for ever at the end of his own blasted ball.