Her Christmas Pleasure (The Merry Widows 2)

He was a damned fool.

“My dear, you look as if you’ve had a dreadful fright. Is there something the matter?” The Countess of Urswick glanced around the darkened hall with a sharp eye and a quick turn of her head. “Where’s Damien? Did he not accompany you to say good night to Theodore?”

Celia’s knees weakened at the mere mention of his name. She wished she still leaned against the wall. She’d at least have something to support her when she fell.

Too late. Indeed, she’d already fallen.

For Damien. And yet he was leaving her. He was moving to France—when would she ever be able to visit him?

Would he want her to visit? Surely not.

“He…he informed me to offer you his apologies, but he was too weary to go on celebrating. He retired for the evening.” Her voice was shaky and the countess studied her carefully. No doubt because she sounded and looked a complete wreck. Anyone with eyes and ears could tell.

“You sound weary as well.” Reaching out, the countess patted Celia’s arm.

“Perhaps you should get some much needed rest. I know Theo has run you ragged.”

Celia nodded, grateful for the reprieve. “That sounds like a splendid idea. I am rather tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has been.” The countess smiled and drew Celia into a quick embrace.

“Good night, dearest. Sleep well.”

“Thank you. You too.” She wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight. Her mind was awhirl over Damien’s kiss.

And not even an hour later her thoughts were still filled with him. His strong arms clasping her close to his firm body, his mouth so soft and wet. How his tongue had licked, searched and circled about hers as he delved inside her mouth. Bringing forth such wondrous feelings she believed long dormant, possibly nonexistent.

Only a few stolen moments in Damien’s arms, and she’d been more alive than she had the last two years—three, if she counted the time Lawrence had been gone at war, leaving her a lonely wife with a toddling babe to look after.

She lay in bed in her darkened bedchamber, only the flickering light from the fireplace illuminating the space. Shadows danced upon the walls, darkness and light, fanciful and mysterious.

Much like her thoughts. The mysteries of attraction never ceased to astound her. She’d never believed Damien viewed her as anything but a friend. Not until last autumn, when she’d discovered him watching her. It had given her a bit of hope to cling to. Their time together had become heightened, fraught with a sort of tension she couldn’t deny.

But he never said a word, never indicated beyond the occasional secretive glance that he might have feelings toward her.

Celia sighed. There was much to admire about Damien. He was kind and thoughtful, handsome and giving. And so loyal—he never had an ill word for anyone. Not even his servant father and long-dead mother. He spoke with respect and worked hard. Her father-in-law trusted him implicitly with the handling of his estate.

She remembered again how he’d looked at her with such…hunger glowing in his eyes before he kissed her beneath the mistletoe. The first touch of his lips upon hers and then later, when he held her against the wall as if she weighed nothing…

Lawrence had never attempted such a thing. He’d always been gentle, sweet and careful in the bedroom.

Perhaps Damien could be gentle and sweet. And passionate and possessive and the slightest bit rough…and she’d like it. Love it, even.

A shiver moved through her. She rolled over on her side, squeezing her thighs together. It didn’t ease the ache that continued to throb between her legs. Restlessness had consumed her and made her long for something she couldn’t have. It was almost too much to bear.

She’d held the tiniest hope Damien would sneak in like a thief under cloak of darkness into her bedchamber. Slip beneath the heavy coverlet and draw her close. Touch her everywhere, kiss her, undress her, fill her with his body so they would become one.

Celia punched her pillow with a furious thump. It was hopeless. He wasn’t going to come inside her room and declare his intentions. He wouldn’t dare ravage her until she couldn’t stand.

Yet she wanted him to. Desperately.

And she would make it so. No matter what it took.

Chapter Four

Damien entered the small library he and the earl preferred to meet in and found Theo sitting on the edge of a gold velvet tufted settee, his little legs swinging to and fro as he held a large book in his lap. It was an unusual sight, to discover the boy alone, for he was normally accompanied by his nanny or the countess or Celia.

Celia. Just thinking of her made his heart ache.