Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
He drew back and cradled her face between his palms. When they’d stopped for a hurried meal in Alnwick, by unspoken mutual consent they’d kept their conversation to unimportant matters. So in all the ways that mattered, their life together began here in this room overlooking the cliffs.
“I can’t tell you how proud I felt when you walked down the aisle this morning and promised yourself to me.” Proud, yet strangely humble.
Her smile was tremulous, and aching emotion deepened her blue eyes to midnight. “You shouldn’t say such things. Unless you want me sobbing all over you.”
He laughed fondly and kissed her. “That doesn’t sound like my indomitable bride.”
“Your indomitable bride is feeling a little fragile.”
“I’ll have to kiss her back to her stalwart self.”
“I’ve missed our kisses,” she murmured, leaning forward. “Why did you make us wait a whole month?”
“You threatened me with a year.”
“I was only teasing, you know I was.”
He nipped at her full lower lip. “My reasons were good.”
She sent him an unimpressed look. “I think you’re more concerned about propriety than London’s strictest chaperone.”
“I want to do everything right—even if I suffer for it. And believe me, my love, I did.”
Frequently over the last four weeks, he’d cursed this need to show the world how much he honored Bess. With a special license, they could have married within days. But he abhorred the idea of any snide comments about a quick wedding, following that snowy night in the woodcutter’s hut. So the vicar had called the banns, and Rory had endured the excruciating delay of a conventional engagement.
“I know.” Bess rose on her toes and kissed him. These weren’t the sizzling, voracious kisses he’d fantasized about through this whole pestilential month. But her unfettered affection warmed the cold, lonely places in his soul, places he’d never known existed until he met her. “And I’ve been dreadfully ungrateful.”
“Aye, dreadfully,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “You’d better make amends tonight.”
“Only tonight?”
“It’s a start. I have a powerful appetite to feed. We haven’t had a minute alone since Christmas.”
Once they were betrothed, they’d hardly exchanged a private word, let alone indulged in any mischief. The free and easy week of courtship became a memory. When he and Bess hadn’t been preparing the Abbey for their life together, she’d been introducing him to the neighbors and the local area. With every day, he’d become more a part of this new life that had felt so alien when he’d arrived in Northumberland. He had Bess to thank for that. He had Bess to thank for so very much.
Having her in his arms now felt like a miracle. Her physical presence beat through him like a great drum. “Then you left me for a week to kick up your heels in Newcastle.”
“You know I needed to buy my bride clothes, and order furniture and curtains. Believe me, staying with you, even under a hundred curious eyes, would be much more fun than staying with my aunt.”
“I’ll wager her nose was out of joint when she discovered you’d captured an earl.” Bess’s aunt and cousins had attended this morning’s wedding in Penton Wyck. They’d been nauseatingly obsequious to him, while barely concealing their jealousy of Bess.
Bess laughed shortly and cuddled closer. Her rich female scent teased his senses. “They made it clear that I didn’t deserve my good fortune. But my aunt is very fashionable, and she warmed up a degree or two when we cleared out the shops.”
“Dear Lord, you didn’t let her bully you into buying a thousand folderols, did you?”
Bess leaned back in his arms, a glint in her eyes. “Frills are all the rage this year.”
“Lord help us.” He knew she was teasing. Again.
“And then you dragged me away after the wedding breakfast on an interminable journey. We could have stayed the night at Penton Abbey and traveled tomorrow.”
He shuddered theatrically. “Good God, we’d never have a moment’s peace. The villagers can’t bear to let you out of their sight. Simpson would stick his head into our bedroom every hour to check I was treating you right. Sally would badger you with improper questions. Your father would wander in at two in the morning to share his latest theory about some Byzantine princess or other.”
She gave a low laugh. “Well, we can’t have that.”
“The avid interest in the consummation of our vows quite put me to the blush.”
“The villagers like you.”