Her Christmas Earl

“Brace—”

He flung open the door to the fatal dressing room and she suddenly understood why he looked like a cat who had taken over a dairy.

His hand closing around hers, he pulled her into the confined space. Immediately Philippa was transported back to last Christmas Eve. A night of dread and uncertainty—and her introduction to the pleasure that had since become a rich strand in her life. Blair’s subtle scent was part of her now, but in the small room, she was overwhelmingly aware, as on that first night, of his essence.

As he tugged the door shut, she noticed the lit candle on the trunk. She cast him a sardonic look. “You’re better prepared this time.”

“Practice makes perfect. I hope you’re not expecting a leisurely wooing, my love.”

Every time he called her his love, she suffered a pang, despite the radiant happiness of the life they’d built together. He used endearments all the time. Darling. Sweetheart. Dearest. But when he said “my love,” she remembered that for all his attention and affection, he’d never said he loved her.

And poor, pathetic, yearning creature she was, she’d offer up her soul on a carving plate to him if only he’d say the words. Even once.

She shook off the bleakness. Her husband planned a wicked interlude. She refused to brood on what couldn’t be and spoil what promised to be a memorable encounter. “You’re feeling the pinch?”

“Most definitely.” His low, insinuating laugh made her shiver with familiar excitement.

His expression intent, he backed her toward the closed door. She had fond memories of that door. The first time he’d kissed her, she’d been leaning against it.

He kissed her again, with a desperation that jangled with his light-hearted tone as he’d lured her in here. Eager hands tugged at her bodice and they both sighed with satisfaction as he fondled her breasts. He slid her skirt higher, then with a couple of deft movements, her drawers fell to the floor. His exploring hand quickly discovered that she too was needy.

“Don’t make me wait,” she begged, clinging to his shoulder with one hand while she fumbled at the fall of his trousers. A year had taught her a few husband-managing skills of her own. Soon her fingers curled around the heavy, virile weight. He groaned and tilted his hips forward. Anticipation fizzed like champagne in her blood.

Philippa moaned encouragement as he hitched her up against the door. The oak was hard against her back, then she was only aware of miraculous, hot fullness as Blair pushed inside her. Her body quickly adjusted to the unfamiliar angle and pleasure forked through her like lightning. Through a year of nights and days, the glory of their joining had never faded.

Pressing his face into her hair, he began to move with relentless purpose, building the conflagration until she cried out and shook in his arms. For a long, shining time, she rode the waves of her delight. A liquid rush filled her womb before she tumbled back to her feet, legs near to collapse.

As she and Blair slid in a heap to the floor, he kissed her with more of that thrilling desperation. He mightn’t love her, but he wanted her to the point of madness.

With a satisfied sigh, he leaned against the door and she sprawled across him, too exhausted after her shuddering release to move. During the wild encounter, her hair had collapsed around her face and she brushed it back as she fought to regain her breath. Every time they made love, he turned her world to fire. His mere presence lit every day to flame.

He shifted to fasten his trousers, although she could have told him not to bother on her account. She loved every inch of his superb body. To her chagrin, she loved every inch of his soul, too. But that was her burden and one she intended to bear in silence. What point risking their happiness with demands for what he couldn’t give?

Eventually the heart beneath her cheek calmed from its frantic race and his breathing steadied. “That was…better than I imagined. And I’d imagined something unforgettable.”

She stirred, but his grip tightened, keeping her close. When she raised her head, she expected to see triumph in his face. After all, she’d succumbed to his seduction without a hint of hesitation.

He didn’t look like a conquering hero. Instead he looked strangely vulnerable.

Because of that expression, she could no longer keep silent about the truth she’d discovered a month ago. “Blair, I’m going to have a baby.”

She wasn’t sure how he’d react, although she assumed he’d be pleased. But he straightened and stared at her, green eyes unreadable and long, expressive mouth unsmiling.

The pause extended. And extended. Until Philippa shifted uncomfortably and moved away. She immediately felt the absence of his touch.

“Say something,” she said, her voice fracturing. She wanted to return to their usual joking flirtation, but the words emerged as raw demand.

Still he stared at her.

Dear heaven, what was wrong? She frowned. “After what we’ve done all year, you can’t pretend you’re surprised,” she said sharply. “It’s not like I managed this by myself.”

He swallowed and his hands opened and closed on his thighs. “You don’t sound pleased.”

There was no trace of his familiar humor. Something moved in his eyes, something she didn’t understand. Her belly clenched with apprehension, although what could she do? She wanted this child with a fervor that astonished her.

“Of course I’m pleased,” she snapped.

He tilted one black brow, his fierce expression lightening a fraction. “Really?”