Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“What is it, Philippa?” He frowned, more in puzzlement than irritation. “And don’t tell me I’m imagining that there’s something wrong.”

She stopped on the verge of saying just that and glanced toward the glowing embers in the hearth. She couldn’t bear to look at him. He was so beautiful, and seeing him only reminded her of how marvelous he’d made her feel last night. “Please let me go,” she said tonelessly.

His hold tightened, making her pulse leap under his fingers. “No.”

r />

Surprised she stared squarely at him for the first time since she’d woken. He didn’t look annoyed, although even she admitted that she acted like a ninnyhammer. Instead he looked determined. Which was much more daunting than anger. “I thought you were joking about the obedience.”

A faint smile teased his lips, but his eyes remained watchful. He raised the hand he held and kissed it. “That depends on what you intend to do next.”

Even as reaction shivered through her, she closed her eyes against tears. If only he wasn’t so considerate. If only he was the heartless rake she’d believed him to be. That man deserved to be saddled with a wife he didn’t want and a life he hadn’t planned. “Please—”

“Talk to me, Philippa.”

He released her, but his kiss still tingled on her skin, reminder of the hundreds of kisses he’d given her last night. He’d been so good to her, so generous. And she wasn’t worth his care.

“This marriage isn’t what you wanted,” she said in a choked voice.

To her surprise, he greeted that with a soft laugh. “I thought the issue might be something like that.”

She waited for him to say that it didn’t matter, to lie. Ever since they’d been caught together, he’d done his best to shield her from the consequences of her actions, but that didn’t make him a willing participant in events.

When the silence extended, she opened her eyes, pique stirring beneath self-castigation. “You were trapped into marrying me.”

He settled with a sigh against the headboard, his stare unwavering. An embroidered lady wearing a steepled head-dress peeped over his shoulder with faded eyes. “And now you’re torturing yourself with guilt.”

“I broke into your room. The blame is mine.”

“Yes.”

Another silence while she waited for him to say something conciliatory. When he didn’t, she glared at him. “Now we’re tied together for life.”

The green eyes were unreadable as they rested on her face. “Do you mind?”

Blair was a wonderful man, and every day she discovered new and intriguing facets of his character. Not to mention that when he touched her, he made her feel like a goddess. The promise of a lifetime in his bed made her want to skip and sing and turn cartwheels.

How on earth could she mind?

“Not for myself,” she said, too shy to share the wanton thoughts running through her head.

“So you think I should mind?” he asked neutrally.

“If you’d been free to make your own decision, you’d never have chosen me for your wife.”

A smile teased his lips. “That’s true.”

Oh, dear Lord in heaven. She’d been right. He did regret marrying her.

Philippa clenched her free hand in the tangled blankets as a jagged hole gaped in her heart. “So you’ve been forced into a situation not of your choosing. And it’s my fault.”

“Definitely.”

Despite the justice of Blair’s response, her lips flattened with displeasure. She didn’t expect a declaration of eternal love, but this swift agreement with her bleak assessment irked her. “You should wish me to the devil.”

The green eyes seemed to convey a message she couldn’t read. Something unconnected to his hurtful words. “You know, when you put it like that, I suspect I should.”

“But it’s too late,” she said in despair.