Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection
“Once the vows were spoken, it certainly was.”
She bit her lip and told herself she’d cry when she was alone. Despite that exhortation, tears pricked at her eyes. She spoke the only words she could, knowing even as she did that they were utterly inadequate to the wrong she’d done him. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know,” Blair said musingly after a long while, “given all these grim facts you’re so determined to enumerate, any sensible man should be as cranky as a dog with fleas this morning.”
Miserably she stared at him. Why did he have to be so handsome? Right now, his physical appeal felt like yet another attack on her wilting confidence. “Yes, he…you should.”
Another delay before he responded in the same thoughtful tone. “But you know—”
She braced for condemnation. Instead he relaxed back against the elaborate headboard with a casual air that left her bewildered.
The silence continued to the point where she wanted to scream.
“I know what?” she forced out.
“You know—” His lips stretched into a smile that set her foolish heart dancing, despite the morass of wretchedness. “Now I think about it, I’m not nearly as discontented about our wedding as I imagined I’d be. When your uncle threatened to shoot me if I didn’t do the right thing, I was sure that we’d got ourselves into a deuce of a coil.”
Her wayward heart stumbled to a standstill. Open-mouthed with shock, she stared at her husband. She didn’t trust what she thought she’d heard. “What does that mean?”
Amusement lit his eyes to emerald. “It means, wife, that I’d like to try and make this a true marriage.”
She frowned. This seemed too good to be true. Handsome, profligate men didn’t give up their sensual pleasures for the sake of plain little mice like Philippa Sanders. “You think I believe that?”
He leaned forward and cradled her face between his hands, sending her heart into another ridiculous jig. “I think you’re creating monsters in your mind.”
Desperately she searched his remarkable face for signs of deceit. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“Believe me, after last night, no man could be unhappy. It’s just not possible.”
She blushed again. “There’s more to marriage than bed sport.”
He laughed with the hint of affectionate mockery, familiar from the night they were locked in the dressing room. “It’s a start.” When she didn’t smile back, he continued. “And we’ve got more than that, Philippa. You know we have. I like you. I admire you. You’re always interesting. In fact, I couldn’t have chosen a better wife if I’d tried.”
Relief flooded through her, and under the unabashed warmth in his eyes, her fit of futile guilt melted like ice in the sun. “Do…do you mean it?”
“Of course I do.” He paused, and his expression became serious. “Now the question is whether you’re happy to go forward with me.”
This time she didn’t try to hold back her smile. “My lord, you demonstrated some essential husbandly skills last night. I look forward to sampling your other talents.”
He laughed at her light response, which was just what she wanted. In a marriage so new, she couldn’t burden him with the unprecedented emotions that had welled in her heart when he’d joined his body to hers.
Perhaps her feelings now were merely a virgin’s romantic fancies, but staring into her husband’s brilliant eyes, she wondered if she was halfway to falling in love with the scandalous Earl of Erskine.
More than halfway, she suspected, wondering why the idea didn’t make her sick with fear.
Perhaps Philippa wasn’t terrified because her husband’s expression warned her of an impending demonstration of husbandly skills.
With sudden confidence that everything would turn out all right, despite their topsy-turvy beginnings, she leaned forward and eagerly pressed her lips to his. As he kissed her back with gratifying enthusiasm, she silently promised Blair that whatever happened, he’d never regret their marriage.
Epilogue
Hartley Manor, Wiltshire, Christmas Eve 1824
PHILIPPA’S LAUGH RANG with joy and excitement as Blair dashed up the long corridor and dragged her into their bedroom. It was the same room he’d slept in as a bachelor, when he’d so reluctantly attended Sir Theodore Liddell’s last house party.
“Blair, they’ll hear us.” Her family must guess exactly what the earl and his countess planned for their “early night.”
“Too bad.” Blair turned to haul her into his arms, kissing her with a passion that had only grown more powerful since their wedding. When he raised his hea