Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  He chuckled as he let his hand drop from hers. "I shall not expect it now then."

  She shook her head and continued her quest. Soon his breeches were completely unfastened. They rested momentarily on his hipbones, but then impatience got the best of Rhys. He pushed them down and stepped out of them.

  Grace gazed at him with awe and then slowly circled him, the same way he had done with her earlier. "Now I understand why you insisted on taking your time. There is so much to appreciate. To revere, even."

  He growled but it merely made her laugh. Clearly he enjoyed her viewing him in this way. Her laughter halted when she was behind him. Grace wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his muscled back.

  "I adore you, Rhys," she whispered against his skin. "I always will."

  Rhys knew he was not meant to hear her confession, but he was too acutely attuned to Grace not to hear the words. It warmed every fiber of his being, knowing how she felt. He had spent so many years hoping for those very words.

  Now he had to demonstrate to Grace how much he treasured her, and always would.

  He slowly turned until he was facing her. She tilted her head back so she could see into his eyes. Her smile melted him on the spot. It was a blend of happiness, and mischief, and something so seductive.

  He kissed her cheekbones, and the shell of her ear, and down the column of her throat. He wanted to memorize every sensation while also ensuring Grace could not bear this to be their only night together. He would use all of the passionate wiles at his disposal.

  He loved Grace. He did not know how to handle the thought of her being with anyone else but him. Not now.

  "I fear I have lost a fair amount of patience," he said. "I may need your aid in getting you out of this garment."

  She wriggled out of it, needing his assistance with some pins holding things in place, and then the fabric was draped on the rug. Grace was standing in front of him, completely nude, nibbling at her lip while she watched him.

  He was bereft of words, so he showed her with his touch how beautiful she was to him. His fingertip traced the outline of her lips…until she gave him a playful bite.

  He grinned and continued his exploration, cupping her breasts in both hands, teasing the nipples until they tightened. His hands slowly moved over her waist, smoothing over her rounded hips. He grabbed her luscious bottom and pulled her against his very hard body.

  She gave a small murmur that aroused him even further. When she moved slowly, rubbing her softest parts against his impossibly hard arousal…

  He quickly picked her up in his arms and strode toward the bed. She kissed him the entire time, as if unable to be parted from him for even a moment. It matched his own emotions. He laid her onto the mattress and then stayed atop her.

  She quickly wrapped her legs around him, silently inviting him to enter her, but he held off.

  "Rhys," she said, her tone a blend of pleading and chiding.

  "Soon," he promised. He continued caressing and kissing, relishing the feel of her legs surrounding him, the sight of her hair spread across the pillows.

  "I fear we do not have the same notion of 'soon'." She wriggled against him, tempting him beyond measure. "I would prefer you use my definition."

  He gave her hardened nipple a quick kiss. "I am inclined to utilize mine instead." At her mock frown, he added as contritely as he could manage, "I shall feel intensely guilty about it, though."

  Her eyes narrowed in a mock frown and he knew she would do everything possible to win this battle. Fortunately it meant both of them would ultimately prove victorious.

  Grace slid her hands down Rhys' back. She halted at the base of his spine, watching his expression. He silently dared her to continue, knowing she was unable to resist such a challenge. It was one of many reasons he adored her, his fearless adventuress.

  Her hands began their relentless pursuit once more. They smoothed over his backside, causing him to shudder from the sheer pleasure of it. Naturally she had to torment him numerous times.

  "Grace," he said with a soft warning tone.

  "I am feeling intensely guilty," she answered pertly. "So it is permitted, correct?"

  He nipped at her bottom lip, partly to keep from laughing at her using his own words against him. She opened her mouth, though, inviting him in. He knew it was a distraction but he could not deny the request. He could not deny anything Grace desired.

  It was why he had been able to wish her well when she had left previously, when it was the last thing he wanted.

  He shook his head to rid himself of the unpleasant reminder of how ephemeral their connection could be, much as he would try to prevent it from happening again.

  "Rhys?"

  He kissed Grace, a bit more passionately than he had intended, but she answered it with an equal ferocity. His fear of losing her once more, combined with her impatience, proved to be too much for him. He needed to know she was his, for at least this brief moment.

  "Grace," he murmured. She seemed to understand what he could not explain aloud. He entered her as slowly as he could, so she could grow accustomed to the sensation of being joined with him, but her cry of joy prodded him to go deeper. She arched into him, her legs clamped around him as if fearful he might retreat, until she realized he would not. She rocked against his body, the rhythm as natural as if they had been together like this throughout time.

  Time.

  He needed more of it. He needed to spend every waking moment with Grace, loving her, caressing her, laughing with her, bringing her immeasurable joy.

  He muttered a little prayer that such a wish could be granted, vowing to cherish the gift she would be in his life. Her movements began to speed up and become more frenzied. She clutched at his back, tightening her legs, and then began a slow moan. He increased the rhythm, knowing what she needed, and then he felt her squeezing him at the same time she began to wail his name.

  He fought to hold off until she found her release, and when she did, he followed her into that blissful oblivion.

  Grace held on to Rhys while they both tried to catch their breath. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to leave the pure perfection she had experienced. She was not certain she could speak if needed. Her body tingled everywhere, especially where Rhys' skin touched hers.

  He finally lifted his head and she opened her eyes. His concern melted away when he saw her smiling at him. He gave her a lingering kiss that made her feel the stirrings of arousal again.

  "Not this time," he teased, moving to the other side of the bed and lying on his back. "You must think I have no control at all, as easily as you had me succumbing before."

  "I enjoyed you succumbing, as I am sure you know." She rolled onto her side and began a slow caressing of his chest. "But if you wish to demonstrate your self-control later, I will prove to be the most avid audience."

  He grinned and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "You always have been."

  Grace snuggled against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tight against him. She had never felt so treasured, so comforted, so happy.

  "Now it is my turn to be an avid audience," he said, slowly stroking her arm. "Tell me of some of your travels. Where did you go first? What was your favorite locale? Where would you return?"

  "So many questions. Let me try to answer them in order. The first is the easiest. Scotland."

  "Really?"

  "It is where eloping couples go, of course. I was not quite enamored of their food, so it does not qualify as my favorite locale, or somewhere I would rush to return to. Yet I am glad I went. The scenery is magnificent, and the castles are ancient, filled with mystery and something quite mystical."

  "From your glowing description, I find it hard to believe it is not your favorite." When she leaned back to look at him, he brushed a kiss against her lips. "You have quite made me feel as though I was there, as well."

  "I wish you had been." She hesitated before confessing with a frown, "It was
not long into our wedding journey that I learned my husband's true nature."

  Rhys tightened his hold on her. "He did not harm you, did he?"

  "No, not physically."

  "Was he not loving?"

  "Oh, he was very loving. So loving that he had to share himself with the entire female population of every place we visited. Any female that responded with a smile to his blandishments was favored with his 'loving nature'."

  Rhys sat up and wrapped her in a quilt before carrying her to a chair near the fire. Once she was seated, he rummaged through the cupboards until he found a bottle of brandy. He returned and handed her the bottle. In the next instant, he was in the chair, and she was on his lap.

  She took a measured sip of the spirits. Rhys waited patiently, giving her bare shoulder a tender kiss. Grace knew he wanted her to tell her tale, and he was providing her with a comforting setting to do so.

  "I did not mourn his death," she said, handing Rhys the brandy. "I had already grieved previously, when I knew I was married to a man who could not love only me."

  "He was a complete fool." Rhys took a quick swig from the bottle and then his lips lifted in a wicked smile. "Tell me you did not bring about his demise, poisoning his dinner one evening, or skewering him while he tended the fire."

  "I did none of those things! I merely thought about them. No, his philandering nature brought about his own demise, or an angry husband did, most likely. He returned from carousing one evening, beaten and bruised, insisting he had been set upon by footpads. It was not the first time, either. I had packed my belongings, and Oliver's, but agreed to nurse him back to health, once more." She took the bottle from Rhys for another drink, a longer one this time. "I know I should have left sooner—"

  There was nothing but compassion and understanding in his gaze. "You had Oliver to care for."

  "He is the only reason I do not regret the marriage, as ill-fated as it was."

  "It is because you find magic wherever you go, Grace. In truth, I believe you are a sorceress, creating magic when there is none, or even any hope of it. I have been the beneficiary so many times."

  His words made her catch her breath. She nearly spilled the emotions in her heart just then, but the strength of her feelings frightened her. He seemed to sense her confusion, for he tightened his arms around her, and she rested her head against his steadily beating heart.

  "Tell me which locale was your favorite," he murmured.

  Here, she almost blurted. This bewitching cottage, isolated from everyone, wrapped in your embrace.

  Instead, she said, "I was enamored of Paris. There is definitely some sort of enchantment there."

  "Would you return if you could?"

  "Oh, yes, definitely. I was also quite taken with Italy. There was a particular glow to the sunshine, very hard to describe, and the endless warmth produced wines beyond compare."

  She snuggled in his arms, content to be travel guide for him, wishing they would have the chance to explore it together. It had been her most ardent wish when it was her turn at Stir Up Sunday.

  "I am glad you had the chance to travel," Rhys said, brushing her hair with a kiss. "And even more glad you have returned to tell me about it."

  "I should ask about your adventures," Grace said, "but I do not know that I could bear the jealousy it would bring me."

  "Why would—oh, you mean amorous adventures." He flashed his roguish grin. "I was a veritable saint all those years."

  She narrowed her eyes in a mock glare.

  "Truly. There is a plaque in the village chapel extolling my piety and virtue." Rhys struggled to keep the merriment from his expression. "It has become a pilgrimage, of sorts, with visitors from all the surrounding shires. I would be happy to take you to see it, though I must warn you, some days the queues are rather long."

  "While it does sound appealing, I want to devote my efforts to something else entirely." She grinned and pulled his head towards hers for a kiss. "It may mean the loss of your sainthood."

  He deepened the kiss, stealing her breath, and then whispered against her lips, "Precisely what I prayed for all those years."

  Chapter 8

  Twelfth Night

  * * *

  Each night was more blissful than the previous one, and each morning Grace struggled to leave, to return to the daily chores awaiting her. Rhys was much too tempting, and he did everything he could to persuade her to linger in his arms.

  "I cannot afford to lose my position," she reminded him. "Lord Hartstone has been more than indulgent, but once the new year arrives, I cannot count on that to continue."

  Rhys grumbled but thankfully he did not mention the possibility of a different life in the year to come. She had promised herself to revel in the stolen moments they shared, holding tightly to the happiness within her grasp right now, for however long it lasted. Yet at times, she could not help but yearn for more than an affair that must remain secret.

  Rhys slowly donned his clothing and assisted her into hers. He saddled his horse and then swung onto it, leaning down to lift her in front of him. She cherished the feel of his arms holding her protectively, all while wishing they could gallop into a different future, one that held promise for a man and woman of such different stations in life.

  Too soon they were at the edge of the kitchen garden. The sun was peeking through the last of the darkness, reminding her reality could be held at bay no longer. Rhys dismounted and then lifted her off the horse, holding her close as she descended. She would have kissed him, but there was a distinct throat clearing behind them.

  They broke apart quickly. Grace brushed at her hair while Rhys tugged at his coat. Lord Hartstone greeted them with a broad smile.

  Grace blushed, wanting nothing more than to dart into the kitchens. Surely Lord Hartstone knew they had spent the night together, but as he had not yet sent her packing, perhaps he remained unaware.

  "Rhys, what great timing. I was on my way to remind you—we are anticipating you will join the Twelfth Night festivities this evening."

  "Of course," Rhys answered, almost absentmindedly. "I had nearly forgotten which day it was."

  Grace fought off a blush. She had trouble remembering which day it was, too, thanks to the nights spent in Rhys' arms.

  "Good, good," Lord Hartstone said. "I am glad you shall be attending." He turned and beamed at her. "I know Grace will be making the most wondrous food for us. She always does. I cannot imagine what our feasts would be like if she were not here."

  Grace felt her heart sink into her stomach. Despite Lord Hartstone's enthusiastic praise, it emphasized she was, and always would be, the cook. A servant who prepared the festivities, not one who could ever participate in them.

  Rhys would continue to be invited as a guest, while Grace would ensure that Hartstone Hall's revelers were well taken care of.

  "I have a great deal to do today," Grace said, her throat tight with anguish. She turned to Rhys. "Mr. Wilton, I must thank you for providing me a ride home. When I turned my ankle, I was not at all certain I could make it back safely. Fortunately your rescue was particularly well timed."

  She could see Rhys understood she was attempting to save face, for the both of them. Still, he gave her a pleading look, while Lord Hartstone appeared confused. Grace gave her employer a brief curtsey, and Rhys a quick nod, and then she disappeared into the kitchens, cursing herself for being such a hopeless fool.

  Rhys groaned, wishing he could thrash his friend in that moment. "What were you about, Hartstone?"

  "What do you mean? I did not let on that I knew about your secret liaison. I had no wish to cause Grace any distress."

  "But you have done just that! It seemed the Fates have been smiling on my wooing efforts, yet just when I have nearly persuaded Grace to contemplate a future with me—" He growled in frustration.

  Martin's face fell as he realized his mistake. "I emphasized just how wide the chasm between the two of you is. Dash it all! Surely I can repair this. Let me pr
ove I am a much better matchmaker than this, when I am not accidentally causing mayhem, I mean. I shall speak with her."

  "No, I beg of you, do not. I will plead my case with her once more, this evening."

  Rhys muttered a prayer to any deity who might favor a heartsick man such as he, and headed home, doing his best to believe he would prevail.

  Yet if ever he needed a large dose of magic, it was surely tonight.

  Late that evening, Grace wrapped her wool cloak around her and strolled into the kitchen garden. She lit the way with a lantern, even though she was likely able to do it without any light, having traversed it so many times before. The party upstairs was in full swing, while the servants were enjoying their own celebration. Oliver had been allowed to stay up a bit longer to participate in the revelry, but soon she would bring him to his bed, putting him down for the night.

  He would wake to a secure future tomorrow, and every day thereafter. It was precisely why she had returned. Spending the nights in Rhys' embrace had made her forget that goal. Fortunately, Lord Hartstone had reminded her, and she would not soon erase it from her thoughts.

  "Grace."

  Rhys stepped out of the shadows and her heart lurched at the sight of him. She forced herself to stay in place, even as her heart urged her to race into the comfort of his arms.

  "Rhys. Why aren't you at the party?"

  "It is not particularly festive for me, not when I wish to be with you." He moved closer, slowly, studying her expression. "Grace, come away with me."

  "Tonight?" She shook her head. "I cannot. There is still much I must do."

  "No, not tonight. Every night. I want you with me every single moment."

  She bit back a cry. "It is impossible, Rhys."

  "Why, Grace? Why is it impossible?"

  "It has been since we were born. You are a member of a noble clan, while I am the class designed to serve." She attempted a half-hearted smile. "If I possessed the magic to change it, I would. But we will both be better off once we accept this is how it must be."