Winter Wishes: A Regency Christmas Anthology

by Cheryl Bolen

  “Let your body enjoy its proximity to mine, as it’s meant to do. Let it take pleasure from the heat between us. Let it tell you what to do.” Hades, it took all his control to rest his hands gently on her hips, to refrain from running them down to her soft, round, luscious bum. Or up to her breasts, to caress and suckle.

  He groaned, and her eyes flew open. Damn. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “It’s telling me to kiss you.”

  This wasn’t precisely true, but it was close enough. She enjoyed kissing him so very much. She had never kissed Simon voluntarily, and as for Alan…

  Stop thinking about them.

  She kissed Gawain tentatively at first, then opened her mouth just a fraction to the temptation of his tongue. As before, it sent arrows of pleasure straight to her privates… Oh.

  And it wasn’t only her privates, but now her breasts ached strangely, as if they begged to be touched. So astonishing, because with Simon…

  Don’t think about him. She leaned close, brushing her nipples against Gawain’s shirt.

  “Mmm,” he said. Until now, his hands had rested hot and firm on her hips. Now the back of one hand moved gently against her nipple through the fabric of her nightdress. She let out a sigh of helpless delight and squirmed against him without meaning to. He made a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, and that excited her, too. Strange again, because she’d never found Simon’s pleasure the least bit arousing, and as for Alan…

  Stop stop stop. This was a lesson, she reminded herself. A way to learn that carnal knowledge could be pleasurable. It didn’t really matter if the lesson wasn’t entirely successful. She knew better than to expect a miracle, but hope dawned despite her justified cynicism.

  What she’d experienced so far tonight was definitely better than before. Which was good, but it didn’t mean she had to marry again, even if she decided it mightn’t be too bad after all.

  “Touch my breasts,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Such a sacrifice on my part,” he said, even while those hot hands lifted her nightdress. For a startled second, she feared he might remove it, but he merely shifted the fabric enough to access her breasts. He palmed them gently. “A perfect fit.”

  A flush swarmed from her nipples to her belly and below. She rubbed herself against his erection before she even realized what she was doing.

  He smiled and pulled her down to kiss him, one hand gently caressing her breast, the other moving to her hip. Her mouth responded of its own accord, opening to his in something approaching abandon. She rubbed against him again, her privates throbbing in the most astonishing way.

  “Oh, Gawain,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”

  He smiled and kissed her again. “Now it’s time to remove our clothing,” he said.

  He moved her off him and set about stripping himself quickly, before she became uneasy again. Would his nakedness encourage or frighten her? He couldn’t do much about his rampant erection.

  He hesitated before lowering his smalls. “We can blow out the candle, if you prefer.” It would effectively prevent him from leering.

  “No.” She bit her lip. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

  His heart turned over. “Oh, my sweet.”

  She’d never considered Simon’s enjoyment, or at least not much. She’d been too caught up in her own discomfort.

  “I’ll enjoy myself either way,” he said. “But, thank you.” He removed his smalls and quickly took hold of her nightdress, as if he feared she would change her mind.

  She wouldn’t, not now. That would be cowardly, and she’d had enough of giving in to fear, even though most of the fears had been her mother’s.

  “May I?” he asked.

  “Please.” She raised her arms to help him pull the nightdress over her head. She closed her eyes—drat, a moment of cowardice—and opened them again.

  A small smile curved his lips. His eyes lit with appreciation. “My beautiful Isolde.” He pulled her down next to him, and they lay facing one another. “Where may I touch you?”

  Astonishment made her reckless. “Anywhere you like.” She closed her eyes.

  “Oh, love,” he said, and she gave in to the sensations of his hands and lips, touching her everywhere, adoring her. His lips on her breast. His hands hot on her derriere, sliding softly between her legs, brushing her inner thighs.

  She shuddered with pleasure and clung to him, opening without reservation to his questing hands. She moaned when he touched her sweet spot. How odd, because she’d felt absolutely nothing when Simon had touched her there. Once she’d got past the revulsion, that is, to just putting up with it.

  “You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?”

  “Sorry,” she said, and he laughed and kissed her and played with her until she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “For God’s sake, put it inside me before I go mad,” she said.

  “With pleasure.” He guided himself into her and sighed. “Another perfect fit.” He rolled them over, still joined, and palmed her breasts again. “Ride me, sweetheart.”

  This was something she knew how to do—but it was different with Gawain. Not a chore like before, but a privilege to watch his beloved face, to feast on his delight. And as she rode, he caressed and played with her, until they were both so far gone that they could do nothing but move in unison, until she crested and broke, and he spent himself inside her.

  When she woke, it was still dark. Beside her, Gawain slept. She got out of bed, lit a candle, and checked the clock on the mantel. Almost morning. Gawain must leave.

  What a pity. Sleeping beside him felt so comfortable. So right. She sighed, donned her nightdress, and crossed the room to push the clothes press in front of the door, and then remembered that Gawain had locked it.

  But where was the key? It wasn’t in the lock. Maybe he had put it in his coat—an automatic sort of thing to do. She padded over to the sofa, reached into one of the pockets, and pulled out—the heart-shaped pendant.

  What? Why?

  A soft curse came from the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow. Even in the dim light of the candle, his anxiety showed.

  She’d never seen him anxious before. It was strangely endearing. “You had it all the time, didn’t you?”

  He cleared his throat. “Since the first night.”

  Now she remembered that he’d seemed abashed. “Devious man.” So much for Papa’s secret hiding place. James probably knew of it and had shown it to him when they were children. “Why did you return?”

  “Mostly so I could see you again.”

  She thought about that. “What about the rest—the not-mostly part of your reason?”

  He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. “I went home, fully intending to give it to my mother, but…” He shrugged. “It didn’t feel like the right thing to do.”

  She found herself gazing at his naked torso, enjoying the way his muscles shifted when he shrugged.

  “Then you signaled, and I assumed the pendant’s absence had already been discovered, but we met and talked…and then I kissed you. After that, all I really cared about was seeing you again.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “You’re not angry with me.” A statement, not a question.

  “It was a good kind of deviousness.” She came to a decision and returned the pendant to his pocket. “For heaven’s sake, don’t lose it.”

  “You’re trusting me with it?”

  “I trusted you with myself.” She retrieved the key from the other pocket. “You’d better get dressed and go. The servants will be up and about any moment.”

  “You’re not completely averse to marriage anymore.” In this statement, there was a bit of a question.

  “No, not completely averse.” Not when it’s you. But she couldn’t say that aloud. She had loved him all her life, but he was only her friend—nothing more.

  “Good.” He got out of bed, and again she found herself gazing.
More than that, staring at his lean, powerful body, at his quiescent member against its nest of dark hair.

  “Can it be that you are leering?” He grinned at her, laughing, and so did she, blushing like an innocent. Which she had been, really, until now.

  He dressed swiftly. “Since I’m being frank, I should confess that when I found the pendant, your ghost mimed something I didn’t understand until I read the poem. I realized he was miming joining the two hearts. I’m not quite as brilliant as you clearly assumed.”

  She laughed. “You are so devious. From now on, I shall know how to interpret an abashed expression.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll return tonight to search the north attic.”

  “And to leer at me?” she asked.

  Isolde locked the door behind Gawain and snuggled under the still-warm covers. She breathed in the scent of Gawain. The scent of their lovemaking.

  The ghost burst into the room. “I was mistaken. Your lover is a dishonorable man.”

  Isolde rolled over, so astonished she couldn’t frame a sentence.

  The Cavalier loomed over her, scowling. “Why did he not ask you to wed him?”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She sat up, clutching the covers around herself. “He is not obliged to marry me. It is entirely acceptable for a widow to take a lover, as long as she is discreet.”

  “Nonsense. You are an innocent—or rather, you were until last night. That dastard has made you little better than a whore, and so I told him.” He clenched his fists. “Or tried, but he cannot hear me.”

  Furious now, she snapped, “How dare you? Gawain is a kind and honorable man. What happens between him and me is none of your business.”

  “It is indeed, for I brought it about.” He clamped his spectral mouth shut, as if he’d said too much.

  “You did, did you?” She thought about it and narrowed her eyes. “Is it true, then, that you told my mother to keep the pendant?”

  He glared down his nose. “I needed it here. When she came home with it, it was like a miracle. After endless years of wishing and hoping, I couldn’t allow her to return it to Lady Burke.”

  Which supported Gawain’s theory. “I suppose you insisted and insisted until she gave in.”

  “One uses what meager tools are at one’s disposal.”

  Poor Mama. She’d never had much force of mind, but she didn’t deserve to be persecuted by this odious ghost. “You owe her an apology. You did her a great deal of harm. She was always nervous, but you have made her hysterical.”

  “Apologize for her stupidity? She should have pretended it was lost and offered to pay for it, leaving me to get on with my plans. Instead, she told an obvious lie, and as if that wasn’t foolish enough, she followed it with the truth, which nobody believed. She created a rupture between the very two families…” Again, he shut his mouth.

  She stared. “The very two families you seek to…to reconcile?” But that made no sense; how would keeping the pendant here, even if it had been done secretly, reconcile two families who had already been tolerably friendly? “You sought to unite our families?”

  He nodded sulkily.

  “By way of Gawain and me? Why?”

  “It has been obvious since childhood that you and he were destined for one another.” His mouth worked. “Or so I thought until now.” A pause. “He loves you, but he is yet young and heedless. He must be made to honor his obligation to you.”

  “Gawain is not heedless!” He would make an excellent husband for some…some deserving lady. “I repeat, it is none of your business. I refuse to allow him to be pushed into marrying me.”

  “Now, now, child. I am in the place of a father to you, and I know best.”

  “You are as bad as my own father.” She got out of bed and yanked hard on the bell for Millicent. “Did you ever have a daughter? Did you cause her as much unhappiness as my father has caused me?”

  The ghost reared back as if slapped—and vanished.

  What had she said to cause that? She wondered for a few bewildered moments—and then knew where to look: the old family Bible. Once she was dressed, she hurried down to the library. She’d read all the entries in it years ago, pondering her ancestors. Surely there was mention of a young woman who had fallen from a window and died….

  Yes, here she was: Maria Blakely. Isolde remembered her from wandering the churchyard as a child, reading the inscriptions, placing dandelions and bluebells on the graves. Maria was the only child of Thomas Blakely, then Earl of Statham. Thomas had been gravely wounded during the Civil War and died soon after, and since then had haunted Statham Court.

  Why would Maria have fallen from a window, unless she’d been trying to climb out of it? Gawain’s feat of climbing last night hadn’t been very safe, but he was strong and nimble, while a young woman would be hampered by skirts…. Isolde’s stomach twisted at the thought. Had Maria been locked in and attempting to escape…to a lover?

  This seemed plausible, but it didn’t explain why reconciling the two families mattered so very much—unless the lover was a Burke, of which there were many in the churchyard. The most interesting inscription by far, though…

  Oh! She hadn’t been there for years, but now she remembered—the inscription for Thomas Blakely was a poem of sorts. A couplet…

  She rang for Millicent and set out with her for the churchyard. She wouldn’t risk being anywhere alone as long as Sir Andrew Dirks was near. They tromped through the soggy snow. Millicent whined about her wet feet and the chilly wind. “Why must we do this now, my lady? The gravestones aren’t going anywhere, nor those who are buried here.”

  Isolde ignored her, intent on her quest. There it was: Thomas Blakely, 3rd Earl of Statham. Next to him lay his wife, who had died a few years earlier, and his daughter, Maria, a year earlier still.

  Beneath his name was the couplet:

  Until two hearts be joined again

  In chains of penance I remain.

  What a strange epitaph. As he lay dying of his wounds, had Thomas Blakely written this couplet for his own gravestone? Was it an oath? It sounded more like a curse.

  She returned to the house, pondering the meaning of the couplet, wishing she could discuss it with Gawain.… No, it would be better by far if he didn’t return tonight, because the ghost would interfere and do his best to force them to marry. She had upset the Cavalier, but he wasn’t the sort to give up.

  Maybe she could send a message to Gawain by way of Marcus, asking him not to return.

  But he had the pendant.

  So…she would find the missing heart and send Marcus to Burke Hall with it. There would no longer be any need for Gawain to return. Tears burned behind her eyes. She ordered herself not to be a maudlin fool.

  Chapter 7

  “I’ll need you to stand guard,” Isolde said as she mounted the attic stairs, lantern in hand. With breakfast over, she had a little time to herself.

  “Up there?” Millicent’s voice trembled. “I’m sorry I complained about the graveyard, my lady, but it’s more than my life is worth to go into that attic.” Belatedly, she added, “Truly, you mustn’t go up there either, my lady. It’s not safe.”

  “What’s not safe,” Isolde said, “is for me to be alone anywhere in this house as long as Sir Andrew is here. You needn’t come into the attic. Just stand guard and warn me if anyone approaches.”

  “But my lady, the ghost—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Millicent. I’m not afraid of the ghost. I’ll be fine.”

  She continued up the steep staircase and steeled herself. She hated to hear the Cavalier moan, to see him so helpless and in anguish, even though she was furious at him for trying to order her life for her.

  She heaved a sigh. Perhaps she should try to be more understanding. She knew how it felt to be misunderstood, to have one’s wishes ignored.

  A bloodcurdling moan greeted her. From the bottom of the stairs, Millicent shrieked, “Oh, my lady!”

  “Hush, Millicent!” Isolde
lowered her voice to speak to the ghost. “Stop moaning. If you’re really concerned for my safety, don’t frighten my maid away.”

  The Cavalier lay in chains with his gaping wounds, almost transparent. He wouldn’t be visible at all if it wasn’t so dark in the attic. In a thread of a voice, he said, “For pity’s sake, child, don’t search for the other heart.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not yet. I am not worthy.” He groaned again, and fell back exhausted on his spectral deathbed. Below, Millicent whimpered.

  “Millicent, I’m fine,” Isolde repeated, and turned on the ghost. “Why is it that most people can’t hear you speak, but they all hear you moan and groan?”

  “Because I must protect the heart until I have made amends.” One of his gauntlets had fallen off, and blood trickled from his bare hand. “I do what I must, even if it saps my strength unto death.”

  Which seemed like a strange statement from a dead man, but she let it pass. “One heart belonged to your daughter—the heart you are hiding here—and the other to her lover. Is that correct?”

  He turned his face away. After a long pause, he whispered, “Yes.”

  “Your daughter fell from a window whilst trying to escape to him?”

  “Must you put my shame into words?” he cried, his anguished gaze meeting hers.

  “I’m just trying to understand,” she said. “If your daughter is the one who fell from a window, I’m sure you feel dreadful about it, but it was a hundred and fifty years and more ago. Surely she has forgiven you by now.”

  “Yes, she is a dear child. Her lover died in the war, so they were soon reunited.”

  She pondered more, thinking of the lovelorn Cavalier’s poetry, stanzas upon stanzas where he longed for his beloved. “Is it her mother, perhaps, who will not forgive you?”

  He closed his eyes. “She, too, forgives me, but I swore to make amends, and therefore I am bound by these chains until I do so.”