Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection - Page 122

He caught her hand and carried it to his lips. The kiss he brushed across her knuckles made her tremble—and hope.

“Canforth?” she asked uncertainly.

He kept hold of her hand, and his eyes glittered as they focused on her. “After all this time, do you think you could bear to call me Edmund?”

Ridiculous to balk at such an intimacy when not long ago, his finger had penetrated her body with astonishing and arousing effect. The memory of those sizzling caresses still heated her blood. “Are you sure?”

“Only if you feel comfortable. But you’re my wife. I’d feel privileged if you used my Christian name.”

She nodded. “In that case, I feel privileged, too, Edmund.”

Those straight shoulders eased, and he released a long breath. She couldn’t imagine why he cared what she called him, but it was apparent that he did. “You do an old military man’s heart good.”

“You’re not old,” she said quickly. “You’re in the prime of life.”

“I’ve come back to you a physical wreck.”

Despite the darkness, her hand unerringly found the scar on his cheek. With an aching tenderness that she hoped he felt, she traced the line of the cut. “I told you—as long as you’ve come back to me, I don’t care.”

“Ah, Flick,” he said, her name a soft exhalation. “You never told me why your parents called you Flick.”

“When I was a toddler, I couldn’t pronounce Felicity. Flick was as close as I got.”

“Would you rather I called you Felicity?”

She shook her head. Did he know he continued to hold her hand? It was odd—nice—sitting in the darkness on Christmas morning and swapping confidences. “No. I…like the way you say Flick.”

“I like that I have a special name for you.”

“So do I.” Her fingers tightened on his, and she said a silent prayer for him to stay. Now and forever.

But it seemed heaven wasn’t listening, because he released her and rose from the bed.

Despite her resolution to be brave and make no demands, when he was so newly returned home, a hum of distress escaped her.

“What is it?” Edmund turned and studied her through the winter gloom.

She wanted to lie, but the unadorned truth emerged. “Don’t go.”

His laugh was a rumbling undertone. “My dear wife, wild horses wouldn’t drag me away.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He shifted toward the fire, presenting a breathtaking view of his naked back and buttocks. Despite favoring his left leg, he moved more freely than he had yesterday. He’d blamed last night’s pain on the long ride in the cold. She hadn’t been sure whether to believe him, or whether he tried to protect her from learning the full extent of his injuries.

“Because I want to do this right.” Edmund stoked the glowing embers in the hearth, then gave Digby a pat and a murmured word, before placing a couple of logs on the fire.

The revitalized flames illuminated his noble profile, with its high forehead and arrogant nose and defined jaw. He looked at ease in a way she’d never seen. As if he’d worn a mask of politeness and carefully maintained consideration, but now the mask fell away to reveal the real man.

Silently, Felicity watched the everyday movements, while her heart crashed into an excited gallop. Beyond those unsatisfying encounters in her bed, they’d never enjoyed the quiet intimacy of sharing a room. Tonight a fragile thread twined them together. She felt married to this man she loved in a way she never had before.

The air quivered with the promise of pleasure. A rich tide of anticipation washed through her, and she stretched against the rumpled sheets like a cat in the sunlight. She’d never felt like this. So full of love that she was likely to explode into a volley of stars.

Edmund lit a couple of candles and placed them on the mantel, setting the room aglow. He turned to face her as she pushed upright against the pillows. A man’s body remained in many ways a mystery, although she gloried in the changes from the sleeping Edmund to this awake, fully aroused version. Her fingers clenched in the sheets. She itched to touch him, to explore those hard planes of muscle and bone so different from her soft curves.

“Shall I fetch my robe?”

The old, shy Felicity would have hidden her head under the covers by now. Tonight she took her time assessing this man she’d married so long ago. “No.”

Tags: Anna Campbell Romance
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