A few moments later, she stood outside his chamber.
Ponies and puppies and all manner of creatures frolicked about her middle.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she knocked upon his door, one soft rap.
“Baxter?” She knocked again, a mite harder this time. “Are you awake?
He threw the door open at once. After poking his damp head out and searching up and down the corridor, he swiftly drew her inside.
“Is something amiss, Justina?”
He wore only a towel about his waist, as if he’d come straight from the bath.
She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to tell him she was sorry she’d been so mulish and hardheaded. To kiss the vast, tempting expanse of his sculpted flesh. To do much, much more, in truth.
Instead, she gawked rather indelicately.
But, God above, he was gorgeous.
It truly was a crime that the Almighty had fashioned such a perfect specimen of manhood, and all of that male beauty was hidden beneath clothing most of the time. And though she ought to have blushed as any properly bred young woman would’ve done, she couldn’t feign false modesty.
“Ah, no. Not precisely. Aunt Emily said I should speak with you.”
A sandy-brown brow arched in bemusement. “Your aunt advised you to seek me out?”
“Indeed.” Justina forced her attention from his exquisite physique, her focus landing upon the bathtub and the tendrils of steam floating upward.
“Oh, you’re bathing.” She angled toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, please stay.” Baxter turned her to face him. “What is it you wish to say?”
Her traitorous gaze crept to the damp mat on his chest, the shade slightly darker than his hair. The hair trailed downward, in a tempting, teasing vee until it disappeared into his towel.
Was there ever such a perfect muscled, sculpted masculine work of art?
Even the pinkish scars lashing his right shoulder and slicing across his ribcage didn’t detract from his male perfection.
Her mouth had gone unaccountably dry. Justina swallowed, hauling her attention back to his face with considerable effort.
A smoldering glint of appreciation shone in his eyes. Lion eyes. It suddenly dawned on her. That was what they were.
A sliver of uncertainty pierced her. “What did you want to say to me last night?”
“I’m sorrier than I can say, Justina, that I didn’t tell you I was a duke.” Baxter cupped her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes as if willing her to believe him. “Honestly, I’ve never liked the title, and in the five years since I inherited the dukedom, I’ve had women throwing themselves at me, wanting to be my duchess. I’ve chosen to not use the title except when in London or at gatherings where people already know who I am.”
“It wasn’t because I’m not nobly born?” She had to ask him, and at that moment she acknowledged she must tell him the shameful rest as well.
There would be no more secrets between them.
He drew her to him, caressing her back and dropping tender kisses upon her head. “Nae, lass.”
His burr wrapped itself around her, seductive and tantalizing, and she loved that he felt comfortable enough with her to speak Scots.
“I care nothin’ about yer birth. It’s ye I love. Ye with yer impossibly green eyes that remind me of my beloved Scotland. With yer hair, the rich color of molasses and yer red lips sweeter than any honey I’ve ever tasted.”
“You love me?” Awed, she traced her fingertips across his freshly shaven jaw. “Truly, Baxter?”
“Aye. My heart is full of ye, Justina. Since the moment I laid eyes on ye, my soul kent we were meant to be together. With ye, I am whole. Complete in a way I dinna feel when we are apart.”
“Why didn’t you come to Bristol?” Her voice broke. “I waited and waited.”
Her heart breaking more with each passing day.
She searched his dear face, adoring the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the sharp slice of his nose, his granite jaw. There was nothing soft about this man except for the expression in his eyes.
“Things were a tangle in Lancashire.” He tipped his mouth into a wry smile. “I had mechanical issues, rebellious workers, and sickness had gripped half of them as well. I should’ve asked for yer direction that night I came to yer bedchamber.”
As he spoke, he caressed her, teasing butterfly sweeps of his fingertips that stoked the fire already smoldering in her blood.
“I went to see ye within hours after returnin’ home, but yer servants wouldna tell me where ye’d gone.”
“I was angry and didn’t tell them where we were off to, only when we’d return. Though I didn’t believe you’d actually come.”
“I told ye once before, Justina Farthington. When I set my mind to somethin’, I willna be dissuaded.” He pressed his firm lips to her forehead, the gesture so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. “Marry me, Justina. By special license or we can elope to Scotland. Say ye’ll be my wife, my partner, and my helpmate.”
He hadn’t said duchess.
Because it didn’t matter?
Or because it did?
Justina leaned away, bracing herself for what she must tell him. “Baxter, there is something you need to know about me.”
“What is it?” He grinned, the smile holding the promises of a lifetime with him. “That ye’ve stolen my heart? Me, who didna believe I would ever fall in love? That ye like feedin’ the birds I rescued? That ye’re almost as fond of honey as I am?”
“No to all of those. Although, I do want to hear how you came to have so many birds, someday.” No sense in prevaricating about her history, however. “Baxter, I am a bastard. I may not even really be Emily’s niece.”
In short order, Justina told him an abbreviated account of her birth and coming to England.
For a pregnant moment afterward, he was totally silent, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head and quirked his mouth into a sideways smile.
“I dinna think I’ve ever met a woman as unselfish as yer aunt,” he said. “If ye like, she will always have a home with us, although she’s still quite young. She may very well marry again.”
Justina shook her head. “I honestly don’t think so. She was terribly hurt by her first husband.”
Perchance she’d tell Baxter that story someday. But not today and not without Aunt Emily’s permission.
He hadn’t directly addressed her bastardry either.
“Baxter, I am the illegitimate daughter of an Austrian commoner. You are a duke. People will talk, and that’s without knowing my tainted background.”
His beautiful mouth bent into a bone-melting smile. “I dinna care, and that’s all that matters.”
Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and she fell impossibly deeper in love with him.
“Ye didna answer me, Justina.” Baxter began removing the pins from her hair, and once it was free of its moorings, ran his fingers through the length. “I’ve longed to do this since that first day I saw ye sittin’ in Bathhurst Hotel and Spa’s drawin’ room.
She threaded her fingers through his thick mane, the hair silkier than she’d ever have guessed. “As have I,” she admitted, thrilling at the low growl in his throat.
“Will ye marry me, love? I do love ye, Justina. I think I have from the moment ye said ye believed in love at first sight. Only I was blind to the truth right before me.”
“I love you too, Baxter. I knew I did when you throttled Howlette on my behalf.” Then brazenly, she stood on her toes and drew his mouth down to hers, whispering, “Take me to bed.”
“Ye dinna want to wait until we exchange our vows?”
She gave him a coy smile. “Do you?”
Chapter Twelve
Baxter scooped Justina into his arms and strode to his mussed bed. He set her on the rumpled sheets, tangled from a night of his tossing and turning as thoughts of her tortured him. Bending over her, he cupped her ivo
ry cheek in one hand.
He’d never seen a woman with lovelier skin, peaches and cream. “Are ye absolutely certain, Justina?”
She gifted him a beatific smile, and for the remainder of his days, until he was a doddering, ancient fool, he’d recall how that smile lit the room, love and adoration blooming across her face.
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life, Baxter.”
His cock had been hard as forged steel since she’d entered his chamber, practically eating him with her hungry gaze. But at her sincere declaration, he grew harder still. “Then let me love ye, my darlin’.”
“Yes, please,” she said, her voice husky.
Baxter sat beside her, and drew her into his arms, ravenous for a taste of her mouth. Settling his lips upon hers, he relished her sigh of delight. He teased her mouth open, and Justina welcomed him inside the velvety depths.
Her tongue parried with his for several long, sensuous moments.
“Let’s get ye out of these clothes, shall we? I want to see all of ye.”
He’d envisioned her naked hundreds of times.
By candle or firelight.
In the daytime.
As dawn crested the horizon or as twilight descended.
She flicked a wary glance to the windows, the draperies parted, allowing the first rays of sunshine to filter into the room. “Um, shouldn’t we close the draperies?”
Baxter chuckled and shook his head as he removed her shoes and then her stockings, kissing and nipping his way up each hopelessly satiny thigh.
Little sensuous gasps, sighs, and moans accompanied the journey.
“Never. I want to see ye in the daylight, to memorize each luscious curve and swell of yer beautiful body.” His gaze drifted to her breasts, and he reached out, cupping them with both hands. His palms didn’t begin to contain their bounty. “God, how I want ye. To taste every inch of ye. To take yer glorious breasts into my mouth and to suckle ye.”
His mouth watered in anticipation as he squeezed the abundant mounds gently, then moved to lightly pinch her hardened peaks.
She hissed between her teeth. “That feels good.”
“It feels even better, darlin’.”
As Baxter methodically divested Justina of her clothes, worshipping her like a pagan goddess with kisses and nibbles and licks, he inhaled her heady, womanly essence, becoming drunk on the aroma. When at last Justina lay bare before him, he stood and stepped away so he could admire all of her.
She didn’t blush or try to cover herself. Instead, she lay proudly, all of her considerable charms revealed for Baxter’s eyes alone. Abundant breasts taunted him above her sloping torso. Full, rounded hips gave way to long, shapely thighs and calves.
Her skin glowed golden in the mellow light, and his fingers itched to explore every captivating inch of her until she moaned his name and writhed beneath his touch.
His attention returned to the apex of her womanhood, where she’d soon cradle him. Where they’d join and experience bliss together. His bollocks filled with blood, swelling, swelling, swelling until he gritted his teeth against the pleasure-pain.
“Magnificent,” he breathed, and his heavy, aching cocked throbbed its agreement.
Her inquisitive green-eyed gaze roamed over him, a visual caress until she pointedly regarded the towel still at his waist. The minutest frown stitched her sable brows together.
“Is somethin’ wrong, Justina?”
That kissable mouth—Christ, what he could do with that mouth, what he’d teach her to do with that mouth—inched up at the corners coquettishly.
“You are not naked, Your Grace.”
Christ on the blessed cross.
Never had the two words induced such an erotic response. Henceforth, he’d sport a cockstand every time he heard them. Which might be deucedly awkward, but at the moment, he didn’t give ten damns.
With a flick of his thumb, he loosened the linen, and it slithered to the ground.
Her eyes widened as she took in his full, proud length. A slow smile bent her mouth.
“You are magnificent.”
Then she opened her arms, and Baxter needed no further invitation.
She welcomed him into her embrace, eager to learn all that he could teach her. She met his hunger with her own, their moans and harsh breaths mingling together until it was impossible to separate one from the other.
He slid a finger between the slick, warm folds of her sex. “Ye’re ready, sweetheart.”
As he kneeled between her legs, circling the bud of her femininity, she arched her hips upward to meet his caress.
“Baxter. Please. I need…”
“I ken exactly what ye need, love,” he said, positioning himself at her entrance. Capturing her gaze with his, he said, “Dinna look away, lass. Stay with me as I enter ye.”
Trembling with unrestrained need, she nodded and raised her knees, opening to him. “Please,” she moaned.
Their gazes locked, he slid into her tight, hot channel, gritting his teeth against the urge to spurt his seed.
Her mouth parted, her breathing coming in short little pants as he inched farther and farther inside her.
“Yes. Yes. Oh, God! More Baxter. More.”
She pulled frantically on his buttocks, rotating her pelvis into his.
“As ye wish.” He plunged forward, breaking through her maidenhead, until he was fully sheathed, then pulled nearly all of the way out and surged into her again.
Justina writhed beneath him, so overcome with passion, she hadn’t even cried out when he’d taken her virginity. He rocked into her, his body thrumming with the need to find his release.
“Again,” she pleaded, frantically running her hands over his back and buttocks. “Again. Again.”
Baxter happily obliged, carried forward on a tidal wave of lust and love. “Come for me, Justina. Come,” he commanded, peering into her glazed eyes.
And then she flew apart, screaming his name as she convulsed over and over. He shouted her name as he exploded inside her womb, the orgasm so blindingly powerful, lightheadedness engulfed him.
He collapsed atop her, careful not to crush her beneath his weight. He’d enjoyed sex before. Enjoyed it very much. But this… What he’d just shared with his soon-to-be-wife. That had been a connection of their souls.
She opened her eyes and blinked, wonder and astonishment shining in their green depths. “That was…”
“Magnificent,” they both said together before bursting into laughter.
Sometime later, when the sun had risen higher in the sky, and their absences from breakfast were sure to have been noted, he said, “I should like to announce our betrothal today.”
She giggled and snuggled closer. “I shouldn’t be surprised if Aunt Emily hasn’t taken that upon herself, considering she knew I meant to seek you in your chamber, and I’ve not reappeared.”
He couldn’t find it in himself to regret what they’d shared or that in likelihood, Emily Grenville had announced his and Justina’s impending marriage. And what was more, she hadn’t done it to entrap him, but because that wise woman recognized love when she saw it.
Justina rolled onto her side, one satiny leg between his and her abundant breasts mashed to his chest. At once, his manhood jumped to attention, flexing against her soft stomach. She met his gaze, wonderment in hers. “Again? So soon?”
“I believe a verra short betrothal is in order,” he said, rolling her beneath him.
“Uh-hmm,” she agreed throatily. “Very, very short.”
“I’ll send a message to the archbishop tomorrow, requestin’ a special license.”
“That would be wise,” she said, spreading her legs to receive him once more. Justina cupped his face and pressed a long kiss upon his mouth. “I get my wish, after all.”
“Making love in broad daylight?” Baxter waggled his eyebrows as he slid into her.
Arching her back, she gasped. “No. I am to wed my very own Christmas duke.”
<
br /> “Nae, lass. Ye are marryin’ the man who will adore ye for the rest of our lives.”
About Collette Cameron
USA Today Bestselling, award-winning author COLLETTE CAMERON® scribbles Scottish and Regency historical romance novels featuring dashing rogues, rakes, and scoundrels and the strong heroines who reform them. Blessed with an overactive and witty muse that won’t stop whispering new romantic romps in her ear, she’s lived in Oregon her entire life. Although she dreams of living in Scotland part-time. A confessed Cadbury chocoholic, you’ll always find a dash of inspiration and a pinch of humor in her sweet-to-spicy timeless romances®.
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Thank you for reading WEDDING HER CHRISTMAS DUKE!
I’m always delighted when a reader finishes a book I’ve written. It warms my soul.
For those of you skeptical about love at first sight, such as Justina and Baxter experienced, scientific studies have proven it does exist. And interestingly, many of those who fall in love almost instantly and marry, remain married decades later. I personally know of multiple instances, including myself. My husband asked me to marry him after two weeks, and at the writing of this letter, we’ve been married thirty-seven years.
If you’re curious about some of the other characters you met in WEDDING HER CHRISTMAS DUKE, you can find all of the series that have been written so far on my website. Watch for HOW TO WIN A DUKE’S HEART, Sophronie Slater and Evan Gordonstone, Duke of Waycross’s story and THE DEBUTANTE AND THE DUKE, Rayne Wellbrook and Fletcher McQuinton, Duke of Kincade, romances coming soon. And yes, Aunt Emily does find love. I bet you can guess who her hero is after reading this story.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 11
