Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“They love you.” He adopted a wounded tone. “Then when I finally get you to myself, all you do is snore.”

Most of the trip, she’d slept curled up beside him in the coach. She’d worked so hard for their perfect wedding. Despite his teasing, he was overjoyed that the day had turned out to be everything a bride could want. Although he doubted the vicar understood that his daughter was now married. John Farrar had stumbled through the service and had needed Bess’s prompting when it came to Rory’s three Christian names.

“I’m saving my strength for tonight.”

He laughed in appreciation and reluctantly abandoned her to cross to a side table where the champagne waited. A couple of deft movements and the cork popped. “Och, you’re a bride in a million, lassie.”

She drifted toward him. “I hope you think so after tonight.”

Surprised, he looked up from filling two glasses with the frothing golden wine. “Of course I will. How can you doubt it?”

She didn’t smile back. “I’m worried about measuring up. You’re a man of the world—literally—and I’ve never done this before.”

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nbsp; Apparently more than wedding preparations lay behind her exhaustion. Poignant tenderness flooded him that she should worry about pleasing him. Didn’t the daft lass know she pleased him just by existing? “Bess, take my word for it, no woman compares to you. You’re a jewel.”

“You make everything sound so easy.”

He shrugged and put down the bottle. “If we don’t get everything right on the first try, we’ve got at least forty years to practice until we’re perfect. Goodwill and friendship will take us a long way. And desire.”

And love.

Was that love he saw in her eyes? They’d never spoken the words, but tonight some profound and precious bond united them.

He passed her a glass and sipped from his own. “I want you quite desperately, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Thoughtfully, she took a sip, then replaced her nearly full glass on the table. “Show me.”

“With pleasure,” he said, smiling back. He drained his glass before setting it next to hers. His friend had been thoughtful leaving them the wine, but right now, Rory felt so drunk on happiness, he needed no other stimulant.

Taking her hand, he drew Bess closer to the fire. He was overwhelmingly aware of the large, heavily carved bed in the center of the room.

He kissed her knuckles with a veneration that turned barely leashed hunger into something nobler and sweeter. He’d never before felt this need to protect and please and cherish.

Bess hadn’t done this before. In the most essential sense, neither had he. They would both emerge from this winter night changed forever.

Her eyes were as blue as the ocean that had been his mistress in boyhood and youth. Now he dedicated himself to a new cause. Silently he promised his love and loyalty, his courage and strength to this woman.

He started gently, almost tentatively. Transfixed with wonder, he stroked her luxuriant hair. He touched her face, her shoulders, her arms, her hands, feeling the vital life beneath her skin. This was a lassie full of fire and vigor. And he thanked God that she was. He wanted an equal on his journey. Bess had matched him from the first.

She was trembling. His caresses, subtle but sinfully purposeful, aroused her. When his hands glanced over those magnificent full breasts, she made a stifled sound in her throat. He returned, caressing her until her nipples stood proud against the cool lawn. He took one beaded peak between his lips, making her cry out. She arched into him, burying her fingers in his hair, urging him on. Dizzy with her scent, smoky lemon and lavender and honey, he moved to the other breast. The nightdress was so fine, it was almost like touching her bare skin.

When he finally raised his head, she was flushed and shaking, and her eyes were heavy with desire. “Don’t stop,” she said, as she’d said once before.

When he had stopped. For her sake.

“We’ve only just started.” He seized her for a deep passionate kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She met him without shyness, although he’d seen shyness in her eyes.

He caught her nightdress around her hips and lifted it over her ruffled golden head. She raised her hands in swift modesty, but something in his face must have reassured her. Raising her chin with familiar courage, she stood naked and proud before him.

“You’re perfection,” he murmured in awe.

As if he touched something sacred, he skimmed his hands down her slender arms, feeling her warmth without lingering. Some mad corner of his mind couldn’t quite believe she was real. He’d dreamed of this moment since he’d first seen her.

He caught her hips to hold her still, and kissed her with every ounce of unspoken love in his heart. She wriggled nearer, hands trailing over him, pushing his dressing gown away from his chest, learning his body as he learned hers. He backed her toward the bed, whispering encouragement between kisses on her lips and along her throat.

“Rory…” she sighed when he scraped his teeth up her neck. She shivered. “That makes me feel…”