Chapter 20
It was done.
They were wed.
After attending the traditional wedding breakfast, they now fulfilled their social obligation by taking tea in the Gold Parlor with their mothers, Reverend Hapstone and his wife, and Hawthorne Green’s closest neighbors, the elderly Earl and Countess of Dragmore.
Theodore lifted Lauren’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it while she chewed the corner of her lip in a gesture he’d discovered long ago indicated overwhelming nervousness.
His new wife was uncharacteristically quiet, notwithstanding the fact she’d become the new Countess of Hawthorne two hours prior to this moment. When he released her, she again stared at the huge, teardrop-shaped sapphire ring on her left hand. It was the ring he should have placed on her finger months ago, and a possessive thrill shot through him knowing she was finally, legally his wife.
She’d not had much to say since their chat in the garden the day before. He found himself reluctant to speak of the incident as well, and at dinner the previous evening, they were both content to allow their mothers to carry the conversation.
Theodore could not honestly say he wasn’t still angry. Lauren’s rapid decline into a state of mistrusting his motives hurt more than he wanted to admit. Knowing she’d wanted to hide her suspicions bothered him even more. He had no wish for his wife to keep anything from him, and he never wanted her too frightened to question his motives or offer opinions if she had different views.
But then, he’d not handled things very well either. In the face of her sincere apology, he’d stormed off like a spoiled child when he could have accepted it, and then apologized in turn for not understanding how she might take the gossip swirling around their scandalous elopement.
He sighed heavily, snaking an arm around her waist. Lauren gave him a startled glance, excusing herself from the lively conversation their mothers were currently having on how best to break the news to the ton.
“Countess, if you would like a bit of privacy, we can retire to our chambers. The others will not mind. In fact, it is probably expected.”
Lauren’s eyes widened a little, and for a breath, Theodore thought she might refuse. She stood silent for a long moment, then shyly nodded in agreement.
Theodore wasted no time in making their excuses, and as they made their departure, a round of applause erupted. Lauren flushed such a blazing shade of red it was possible she might be in danger of passing out. Her bouquet, a mix of the red winter roses and bright green and white mistletoe, trembled in her hand. Was she frightened of being alone with him, or truly embarrassed by the attention from their guests?
Shaking his head at Anne, who waited outside the parlor ready to assist her mistress at a moment’s notice, Theodore escorted Lauren to the base of the wide, curving staircase.
“I’ll handle things from here, Anne. Thank you, though.” He shot the maid a wink, which sent her into a blushing fit as well. “We’ll ring for you later to bring up a light meal.”
Lauren did not say a word, merely pressed her lips tighter and allowed Theodore to lead her up the marble stair treads. Once they reached his suite of rooms, Theodore tossed off his formal coat and raked a hand through his chestnut hair.
He allowed his gaze to roam over his little bride. She stood in the middle of the largest room, appearing both fascinated and apprehensive..
Theodore’s features softened. How he loved her. Even if she still mistrusted him, he still worshipped the ground she walked.
“You look so beautiful in that gown, Lauren. Stunning, in fact.”
Her eyes fell to the bodice of the dress and the tiny seed pearls decorating the bodice. “Thank you. It is really my wedding dress, the one I was supposed to wear before. Mother brought it with her from London.” Her fingers traced the lace trim of the veil in the coil of silky brown hair. Soft tendrils escaped the low chignon, teasing her neck and tempting his hands to stroke her skin. “The veil, too. I told her I did not need to wear it this morning, but she insisted.”
“I’m glad she did. It is perfection on you.” Theodore stepped closer, his forefinger grazing the line of her jaw and lifting her chin until she stared into his eyes. “May I help you disrobe?”
“Yes.”
She stood, waiting for him to decide how he would proceed. Slowly walking around her, he placed a hand at the curve of her waist and swept the filmy tulle of the veil aside and over her shoulder.
The back of the silk, ivory-hued dress consisted of a row of buttons matching the pearls decorating the bodice. There appeared to be two hundred of the little devils, and Lord only knew how his suddenly clumsy fingers might accomplish this task.
But he managed.
She released a sigh when he was done unfastening them all, and Theodore held back a groan as the next layer of garments came into view through the opened back. A creamy confection of a corset emerged as he helped Lauren carefully step out of the puddle of skirts. Matching silk stockings and tiny, bow-topped heeled slippers completed the vision of loveliness. She still held her bouquet, so he removed it from her hand. Before tossing it aside, he plucked a piece of mistletoe from its center.
He twirled her slowly so she faced him, his palm easing down her side until it rested on her curved hip.
“Lauren.”
The husky tone of his voice made her sway. Her eyes drifted shut then opened to lock on his. The grey shade of her irises was nearly obliterated by the darkness of the pupils, dilated as they were with arousal. He showed her the mistletoe, and her breath caught.
“A truth. I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Theodore.” She swallowed, her hands lifting so that she cradled his face in her palms. “A truth. I love you. More than you can possibly know. I’m sorry for doubting you again. Will you forgive me?”
He kissed her softly as he tossed the mistletoe aside. “I will always forgive you if you will always forgive me, for we are bound to make mistakes, and there will be misunderstandings. But I swear to you, I will never stop loving you.”
“And I will never stop loving you.” She sighed as he pulled at the strings of the corset, loosening them until the boned structure fell away, revealing a thin, silky chemise beneath. Suppressing a growl, Theodore drew that over her head, careful not to disturb the veil. For some reason, the thought of her body partially concealed by the dream-like material was highly erotic, as was the idea of her keeping on the stockings and delicate shoes.
“Now that you are my wife, you should know I plan on thoroughly corrupting you within the confines of our bedroom.” He trailed a line of open-mouth kisses down her throat, scalding and persistent on the chosen path toward her breasts. Reaching one pale, pink tip, he sucked it deep into his mouth, groaning because she was as sweet as confectioner’s sugar on his tongue.
“I would be thoroughly disappointed if you did not.”
As she spoke, her hands tugged at his shirttails, pulling them free of his trousers before moving on to the button placket. After a few moments, Theodore tore himself away from suckling her breasts to quickly remove his garments. When Lauren moved to remove her veil and kick off her shoes, he stopped her, pulling her against the hard length of his body. She felt so good, his eyes closed against a wave of emotion.
“Leave them on, darling. You have no idea how gorgeous you are.”
Scooping her up, he carried her to his bed, laying her down and arranging the veil so that it draped over her shoulders and flat belly.
“Beautiful.” He kissed the soft skin under her bellybutton.
Lauren’s hands smoothed over his wide shoulders. “Beautiful,” she repeated.
When he settled his mouth against the flesh between her thighs, she arched into the heat of his tongue, an inarticulate cry escaping her lips. With a groan of absolute hunger, Theodore gripped her hips, holding her still for the lashing of his tongue as he drove her over the edge within a matter of minutes.
Kissing his way back up her bo
dy, he lavished attention to her breasts, licking and tugging them deep into his mouth before giving the hard buds a teasing nip from his sharp teeth. When she was writhing beneath him again, he chuckled and began ravishing her mouth. Sliding his tongue along hers, he plunged deep and slow until she was whimpering for more, her hands frantically pulling at his body so he would come inside her.
Reaching a hand down between them, Theodore swept two fingers along the slick folds of womanly flesh. With sly purpose, he brushed over her clitoris, laughing softly when she shuddered.
“So wet. Wet and ready for me to take you. Are you ready, darling wife?”
“Please, Theodore. Have mercy on me. Make me yours,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck and attempting to pull him down harder on top of her. “I need… more…”
“Yes, love. I know you do, and I will give you that and more—anything you ask of me.” With a quick motion, Theodore flipped her onto her stomach, his arm anchoring under her belly and lifting so that her bottom was raised higher in the air.
She squealed with the abrupt motion, but as he instructed her on what he wanted, she obeyed with a tortured moan of anticipation. Braced on her knees, face pressed to the coverlet and the veil pooling over her bare back, she was quite a sight. When her arms extended out above her head, her fists gripping the bedclothes, Theodore knew he’d never seen a woman so damned beautiful.
Standing beside the bed, he moved so that he was between her thighs. Her sex glistening with need, a quivering sigh escaped her when he smoothed a hand over the twin globes of her bottom. Perfectly round, the color of cream, and smooth as silk, they called for his hands. To mark them. To soothe them.
He gave one side an experimental swat and was rewarded with a surprised cry that died off in what might be a strangled groan of pleasure. His cock jerked in response. He treated the other side to the same, and Lauren gripped the counterpane harder. Her hips circled before jutting back toward him.
“Wait, darling. I’m coming in. Open for me. Open.”
Taking his cock in hand, Theodore rubbed himself over the exposed flesh of her sex, gratified when she rocked against him, murmuring incoherently. He thought about making them both wait—making them both suffer the delicious torment of delayed satisfaction, but he couldn’t. Not when she made such intoxicating sounds of need. Not when she moved so wantonly. He was mad for her and she for him. He needed her. Now.
Sliding inside her heat was like coming home. It was everything. It was warmth. It was silk. It was love and comfort and a sense of belonging. It was Lauren. That was enough.
“Christ, Lauren. I’ll never get enough you. Never.” He began moving, going so deep he felt the cusp of her womb, his hands gripping her hips, holding her steady for his conquering. He took her pleasure, gave it back a hundred times over, and in return, exploded with ecstasy he would never deserve. He climaxed inside her just as she reached a pinnacle so pure, so sweet it left her sobbing with its beauty.
Theodore collapsed beside Lauren, embracing her so hard she might have found it difficult to breathe in the circle of his arms. Tears dampened his own cheeks.
“You are a gift, Lauren, and I’ll spend the rest of my days thanking God for you.”
The clock struck midnight, and Lauren lifted her head as the final chime died away, studying the features of the man she loved. In the dim light of the room, she saw the faint tracks where tears stained his cheeks. That she possessed the power to wring such emotion from this powerful man was frightening. That he held the same power over her was terrifying.
And beautiful.
His eyes fluttered open, the blue depths shadowed, but Lauren did not need to see within them to know how he felt.
“It’s Christmas,” she whispered, her heart swelling with love.
“Yes,” Theodore replied, rolling so she was beneath him yet again, their mouths meeting over and over. “Let us celebrate with a kiss and a reminder, wife. I am yours, and you are mine. Forever.”
About April Moran
April enjoys writing both historical and new adult romance with a generous splash of heat. When not penning tales of passion, she enjoys traveling with her husband, attending rock concerts with friends, and time spent with family. Brainstorming new storylines is best done while riding her horse or on long walks with her German Shepherd. A tumbler of good whiskey helps tie all the details together and brings her characters to life.
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Her Virgin Duke
by Nicola Davidson
Chapter 1
London
Early December, 1815
“Please don’t do this. Choosing a bride from a list of names is a terrible idea. It’s so…so cold.”
Bennett Innsworth, Duke of Tunbury, sighed as his younger sister Judith’s fervent words shattered the peace in his library. Last summer she had married her forever love, and while he’d once craved the same joy for himself, now he knew better. When ladies looked at him they didn’t see the dashing hero of their dreams or a seductive bedfellow, just a lofty title held by a man who took his duties so seriously that he’d been nicknamed Humdrum Tun. The moniker stung, but then facts often did. He was just so damned reserved and awkward, possessing none of the charm and droll wit that most ton men effortlessly displayed. Besides, who else but a noble daughter would accept the burden of being his duchess? She would need to manage multiple households, act as his hostess for political dinners, undertake charitable works, help him navigate the viper pit known as Polite Society, and tolerate his attentions long enough to birth an heir and spare.
Not exactly easy tasks, even for a coronet and substantial allowance.
“It is eminently sensible,” he replied. “All five ladies on the list hail from ancient families, are the right age, and have excellent manners.”
Judith scowled as she paced the room. At only a few inches shorter than his own six feet, those legs covered a lot of ground. “The same could be said of most Thoroughbreds. Don’t you wish to at least like your future wife?”
“I’m sure we’ll rub along tolerably well. I can’t expect more than that.”
“Poppycock,” she snapped. “You deserve the kind of happiness I share with Preston. Grand passion, not an empty existence with a near-stranger.”
Bennett gritted his teeth. “No one wants grand passion with Humdrum Tun. Anyway, duty is infinitely more important than love, as my trustees advised—”
“Former trustees. Former. Must I remind you that the splendid soiree I organized back in October was actually your twenty-fifth birthday? When you at last escaped the gilded legal cage? Obviously my ‘happy freedom day’ banner should have been the size of a castle, rather than a mere drawing room wall.”
“Damn it, Judith—”
“Ten years, Bennett,” she flung back, tossing her head so sharply that a lock of brown hair escaped her chignon. They might look alike, but were opposites in temperament. “Ten bloody years those monsters manipulated and punished you, dictated where you went and what you did…all in the guise of managing your finances. I’ll never understand why Papa named them in his will. Ever.”
“Because they were honest men. Upright. Didn’t cheat me out of a single penny.”
“Bah. Those old windbags cheated you out of confidence. Happiness. And now they want to slither back and start again, this time in the guise of helping you find a wife—”
“Enough,” he said firmly.
Judith blamed his predicament on the trustees appointed because he’d inherited as a minor, but the real problem was—and always had been—him. Never would he become the assured and capable duke others expected him to be. He certainly didn
’t have a plethora of friends, bulging social calendar, or beautiful mistress. For God’s sake, he was still a virgin.
Thankfully that remained a secret. Everyone assumed that even Humdrum Tun had coaxed or bribed at least one lover into bed; that he knew how it felt to have a woman beneath him, her ragged moans loud in his ear as he thrust deep into her welcoming wet heat. Ha. Truth be told, it was difficult to envisage carnal pleasure outside of a poem or etching. All he could hear in his mind were his trustees telling him such acts were unbecoming of a duke. Shameful. Unseemly. Hell, he didn’t even pleasure himself because he’d been told so often it was wrong.
He just needed to accept he was Humdrum Tun: the greatest ducal disappointment in the history of the realm.
“Bennett,” said his sister, her tone softening, “You’ll find your forever love, I know it. But don’t marry a stranger you feel nothing for. Please. Not when it’s just a few weeks until Christmastide. That would be an affront to God—”
To his great relief, a sharp knock sounded, and a footman peered around the library door. “Beg pardon, Your Grace, but Lord Fletcher is here about the horse race.”
“Send him in,” said Bennett. “Do excuse me, Judith, but I am shortly to receive a winner’s purse.”
“Bite the guineas,” she replied. “They are from that unspeakable wretch Flatulence, after all.”
“You must stop calling Fletcher that.”
“Why? He is a windbag heir…oh, don’t give me that pained look. I’m going! But think about what I said. Good day, brother.”
With that, his sister swept from the room in a flurry of bright yellow skirts. Shortly afterward, Fletcher sauntered in looking entirely too jovial for a man suffering a loss.
Bennett frowned. “My lord. You appear to have forgotten the winner’s purse.”
The slender, blond-haired viscount, eldest son of his trustee Lord Hurst, smirked. “Alas, Your Grace, I am the bearer of bad news. Your horse ran a distant fourth; I have the confirmed results here signed by the official.”
Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1) Page 118