“You are not doing this because of the estate, are you?” she asked then.
“I do not want Tyre Abbey,” he told her. “I thought I did. I thought securing the estate would fulfill me, but I realized something far more profound along the way. All I want is you.”
“All I want is you, too,” she whispered.
Gratitude washed over him, along with the sweetest relief. And love. So damned much love.
He took her mouth with his at last, and there was little skill in this kiss. It was raw and ardent and real. A promise. He devoured her lips, and when she sucked his tongue into her mouth, he could not stifle his moan of appreciation. The kiss deepened, until they were clutching each other desperately.
Until the low, throaty meows of the fat cat intruded.
He tore his mouth from hers with great reluctance, unable to keep the stupid grin of happiness from his lips. “I hate to stop kissing you, darling, but the demonic cat sounds as if it is in pain.”
Grace smiled back at him. “Where is the poor creature?”
“Beneath a settee, I believe,” he grumbled, inwardly cursing the thing.
If it weren’t for the beast, he would still be kissing the woman he loved. Instead, he took her by the hand and led her in the direction of the dreadful sounds. They reached a gilt-framed settee, and he jabbed his finger unceremoniously toward the cushion.
Before he could protest, Grace grasped her skirts and sank to her knees.
And for the second time in their acquaintance, her rump was beckoning to him as she poked about beneath a piece of furniture. As tempting as the sight was—and as much as he appreciated it—he had no wish for the cat to attack her.
“Grace,” he protested. “Leave the thing alone. I will enlist a footman to help me remove it.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” she said, her voice muffled. “There you are, you little darling. How sweet.”
Frowning, he dropped to his knees alongside her, and when he looked beneath the settee, he saw the reason for the yowling and his betrothed’s sudden cooing both.
The fat cat had given birth to four squirming, wet kittens.
“This certainly explains her outrage,” he said softly.
“She is not demonic at all,” Grace told him, casting him a glance that melted his heart. “She is a mama. Oh, Rand. Aren’t they adorable?”
He was sure they were, but at the moment, he only had eyes for her. “When can I marry you, Grace?”
He wanted to marry her now. This moment. He never wanted to let her go. When he had watched her fleeing from him in the orangery, it had torn him apart.
“Soon,” she said softly. “Rand?”
“Yes, Grace love?”
“Kiss me,” she ordered him.
He did not waste a moment in closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to hers as happiness and love blossomed inside him.
To the devil with feigned betrothals. He had what was real and what was right and all he needed. Now, and forever.
Epilogue
“While your offer is tempting, I must regretfully decline, my lord,” Grace told her new husband with a teasing smile, intentionally echoing the words she had said to him not long ago, when she had initially turned down his feigned betrothal.
“One more?” he prodded with a wicked smile that did untold things to her insides, holding a savoy biscuit to her lips.
“Perhaps just one,” she allowed, and then took a ladylike bite from the airy biscuit.
It was delicious, and there was no denying it. But not nearly as delicious as the man before her. With his dark, tousled hair and those bright-blue eyes of his burning into hers, not even the most decadent dessert could distract her from what she wanted most.
Him.
They had married at a small affair in the country attended by her family and his. After a lengthy breakfast presided over by his grandmother, the august dowager Duchess of Revelstoke—during which Grace had earned her reluctant approval—they had departed for one of the lesser Revelstoke estates.
Rand had prepared for their arrival in true fashion. There had been a steaming bath awaiting her, along with a plate of savoy biscuits, and tea just the way she liked. All five of their cats had accompanied them for the journey, as both Grace and Rand had gotten quite attached to the mama cat—now named Snowflake—and her litter of adorable kittens.
In all, though the winter was cold, their travel had been onerous, and the day had been long, Grace had never been happier.
“Another bite, Lady Aylesford?” Rand asked, the half-eaten biscuit still in his long, elegant fingers.
She shook her head. “All I want now is my husband, Lord Aylesford.”
A glint she recognized all too well had entered his hooded gaze. “Truly? I thought you preferred blond gentlemen with brown eyes. And that I was in need of some fortifying pie.”
Of course, he had not forgotten her merciless teasing of him.
She bit her lip. “I must admit, I still treasure the expression on your face when I said that to this day.”
“That is because you are a wicked minx, Lady Aylesford.” His grin deepened, until he was smoldering with sensual intent. He placed the biscuit upon the plate before taking her into his arms. “Fortunately for you, I am wicked too.”
She wound her arms around his neck. They were both clad in nothing more than dressing gowns. Her hair was damp from her bath, and his was too, the long ends tickling her fingertips.
“I think it is time for our debauchery bargain to begin anew,” she murmured.
“Bloody hell, I love you,” he said.
And then, his mouth was on hers, before she could even tell him that she loved him, too. But it did not matter, because he was kissing her with such fervor, her capacity for thought fled. Because this was the moment she had been waiting for all through their betrothal.
The moment she had been waiting for, it seemed, since that first kiss in the moonlit gardens back at Abingdon Hall.
His tongue was in her mouth. Their hands were everywhere, caressing through the barrier of their silken robes. Fingers finding knotted belts and plucking them open. All the obstacles between them fell away. Their kiss deepened, becoming ravenous. Laden with promise.
They fell onto the bed together, their mouths fused. His body was hot and hard against hers, and it turned the ache between her thighs into a steady throb. She knew what she wanted, and it was him inside her.
But it would seem her rakish husband was determined to torment her, because he was in no hurry. He left her lips to trail a series of kisses across her jaw to her ear.
“I love you, Grace,” he whispered. “So very much.”
“I love you,” she said, so eager for him she could not keep herself from arching her back and thrusting her breasts into his chest.
Her nipples were already taut, eager buds, but the light abrasion of his chest hair against them coupled with his warm strength was enough to make her even wilder for him. And then he licked her ear and caught it between his teeth, and a wild torrent of desire ran down her spine.
She could already feel the evidence of her need for him pooling between her thighs. His knowing fingers parted her there, dipping into her folds.
“Mmm,” he rumbled into her ear. “You are dripping for me, love.”
He found the most responsive part of her, the bundle of need that never ceased pulsing in his presence, and worked his fingertips over it in slow, maddening circles. Her hips jerked from the bed in response. She was coming undone for him with such ease.
She thought he could make her spend with a single look.
He licked behind her ear as he worked her flesh, rubbing harder. The desire inside her tightened. She felt as if she were drawn taut. As if at any moment, she would lose herself. These past few weeks of waiting and wanting had turned her into a wild woman. And there was only one cure for what ailed her.
“I want you inside me, Rand,” she said, running her nails lig
htly down his back.
He felt so good. Too good. As if every part of him had been fashioned just for her.
“Damn it, I am trying to be a gentleman,” he growled, kissing his way down her throat, lingering on a particular patch of flesh. “This heart-shaped mark haunts me in my dreams.”
“I do not want you to be a gentleman,” she urged. “And the heart-shaped mark, like all of me, is yours now. Yours to take. Yours to claim.”
With another low rumble of approval, he made his way to her breasts. He was still working his fingers over her in seductive strokes that brought her nearer and nearer to oblivion. Each rotation brought her closer to the abyss. When he sucked a nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, she was lost.
Her release was sudden and powerful, bursting like a fireworks display in the night sky. Brilliant and beautiful and breathtaking. He bit her nipple lightly, then moved to her other breast, flicking his tongue over the peak.
Ripples of pleasure were still rolling through her by the time he kissed a path of fire down her belly and settled between her thighs. She offered no protest this time, knowing there was no more decadent pleasure to be had than this man’s mouth and tongue upon her. She spread her legs wider, her fingers slipping into his hair. The first touch of his tongue, one long lick up her slit, was so wondrous, she could not stifle her own moan of approval.
He licked over her engorged bud, alternating between quick little lashes of his tongue and long, slow flutters. White-hot desire rocketed through her. Already, she was close to spending again. He buried his face deeper in her sex, an answering moan rumbling from him. He consumed her as if she were a feast. As if he were a starving man.
There was no more erotic sight than that dark head bent between her thighs, intent upon giving her pleasure. She lost control once more. This time, her spend was faster, more potent than the last. She was still shuddering beneath him when he rose, positioning his cock against her throbbing entrance.
“Are you ready, love?” he asked, his breathing ragged and harsh. “I have to be inside you now.”
“Yes.” She moved her hips urgently, seeking him. “I have been ready for you forever.”
And indeed, it seemed to her that she had.
His beautiful face was a study in restraint as he rocked against her. Just the tip of him entered her at first. The sensation was exquisite. She was stretched, aching, and hungry in a new way. But he was going so slowly. And she was impatient. Grace moved, rocking her hips, bringing him deeper. There was a stinging burn as her body adjusted to him. A pinch.
“Damn it, woman, I am trying to make this as painless as possible for you,” he said.
“Then get inside me, now,” she ordered him, breathless.
Her words seemed to be all the impetus he required. He started moving faster, thrusting deeper. He guided her legs around his waist, and he reached a part of her that she had not even known existed. If she had thought the sensation of him inside her had been exquisite before, he proved her wrong now.
It was magnificent.
Glorious.
Thrilling.
“How does this feel?” he asked her, his voice tense, the cords in his neck standing in rigid relief.
“Wonderful,” she said, her back bowing from the bed as she tried to bring him deeper, seeking out the delicious friction of him sliding in and out of her. “I want more.”
He chuckled and then pressed a kiss to her lips. “Easy, darling. I have no wish to cause you pain.”
Her arms were back around his neck, and she was hanging on to him. “Make love to me, Rand.”
On a growl, he began a new rhythm, sliding in and out of her, making the desire within her build to a new crescendo all over again. He withdrew almost completely, then sank inside her, repeating it until she was mindless and boneless beneath him. And when he reached between them to stroke her pearl, it was more than she could take. Desire overtook her. Quaked through her. She cried out, her body tightening on his, as the most primal wave of bliss burst over her.
He continued pumping into her, his mouth on hers. And then suddenly, his big body stiffened. He threw his head back and cried out as the hot flood of his release emptied within her. When it was over, he collapsed against her, their hearts pounding as one.
They remained thus, locked tightly in each other’s arms, for an indeterminate span of time. And all Grace could think of was how much she loved him. Of how thankful she was for the day she had agreed to become a wicked rakehell’s feigned betrothed. She could never have imagined it would turn out like this. That she would find the man she was meant to love forever in him.
But she had, and she was Rand’s now. Just as he was hers.
At last, he disengaged from her, seemingly as reluctant to put an end to their closeness as she was. He rolled to his side, pulling her across his bare chest as he did so. She sprawled against him happily, her head over his hammering heart.
She tangled her fingers through his where they rested on his taut abdomen and tilted her head back so she could see his face.
“I think that perhaps I do not prefer blond-haired, brown-eyed gentlemen after all,” she told him with a soft smile.
“Good,” he said, grinning right back at her and giving their entangled fingers a squeeze. “Because I find that I prefer willful auburn-haired ladies who tell me I need to eat pie.”
“You are fortunate indeed, Lord Aylesford,” she teased. “Because I believe I fit that description perfectly.”
“Yes, I am, Lady Aylesford,” he agreed, devotion smoldering in his gaze, “and yes, you do. And I love you so.”
“I love you more,” she said.
Then she drew his lips to hers for another kiss, and neither of them said a word more for quite some time.
The End.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Willful in Winter! I hope you enjoyed this fourth book in my The Wicked Winters series and that Grace and Rand’s story gave you all the feels, with a side of laughter and steam. Writing each of the stories in this series has been a true joy for me, and I am so thankful to you, my wonderful readers, for embracing this series. I hope Grace and Rand brightened your day!
As always, please consider leaving an honest review of Willful in Winter. Reviews are greatly appreciated! If you’d like to keep up to date with my latest releases and series news, sign up for my newsletter here or follow me on Amazon or BookBub. Join my reader’s group on Facebook for bonus content, early excerpts, giveaways, and more.
If you’d like a preview of Wagered in Winter, Book Five in The Wicked Winters, featuring Lord Ashley Rawdon who is supposed to be convincing Pru to marry his brother, but ends up falling for her himself, do read on.
Until next time,
Scarlett
Wagered in Winter
By
Scarlett Scott
Lord Ashley Rawdon has agreed to accompany his painfully shy brother, the Duke of Coventry, to a country house party with the goal of securing him a wealthy bride. A dedicated rake, Ashley is so confident he can help his brother to ensnare the lady of his choosing, he offers him a wager. It’s too bad the lady his brother selects is Miss Prudence Winter, who is infuriating, stubborn, and far too alluring.
Pru has no patience for sophisticated, handsome scoundrels like Lord Ashley. Nor does she seek a husband. All she wants is to spend the house party in peace so she can return to her charity work in London. But Lord Ashley is persistent. And far too charming.
Ashley’s plan is proceeding splendidly. Until he finds himself alone with Pru, and he cannot resist stealing a kiss…
Chapter One
Oxfordshire, 1813
Lord Ashley Rawdon had a problem.
A tall, beautiful, brunette problem.
Ordinarily, such an obstacle would be pleasant for a man who had devoted his life to chasing, wooing, and pleasing the fairer sex. But in this situation, he was not chasing, wooing, and attempting to win the lady in question for himself.
Rather, he was attempting to do so for his brother.
There would be no delicious culmination of his efforts. He would not be taking the lovely Miss Prudence Winter’s supple berry-colored lips with his. He would never help her out of her gown or find his way beneath her petticoats, and he most certainly would not know the delight of spreading her legs and plying his tongue to her cunny until she spent.
Damn and blast.
Gill was going to owe him after this.
Ash followed Miss Prudence Winter down the massive hall of Abingdon House at a discreet distance. He had no wish to cause a scandal and find himself forced into marrying the chit, after all. Even if he had always had a secret yearning for long Megs like her. And even if he found her delectably tempting.
He put the last down to his forced rustication at a country house party all in the name of helping his painfully shy brother, the Duke of Coventry, obtain a bride. Namely, one Miss Prudence Winter. She was the eldest of all the Winter sisters, wealthy ladies who hailed from trade and whose brother Devereaux Winter was doing his damnedest to use his newfound connection to nobility to ensnare aristocratic husbands for his sisters.
Hence the advent of this blasted party at Christmastide.
Hence Ash’s presence in Oxfordshire.
And his current plight.
Miss Prudence disappeared into a chamber four doors down, and Ashley sped up his strides, casting a cautionary glance over his shoulder, before he, too, crossed the threshold and joined her. He found himself inside the sprawling, two-story library of Abingdon House.
Alone with the woman his brother wanted to make his future duchess.
He closed the door at his back and cleared his throat to make himself known.
Pressing a hand to her heart, Miss Prudence Winter spun about, her skirts whirling around her ankles. He fancied he caught a glimpse of slim, stocking-clad perfection and the hint of appealingly curved calves.
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