by Lisa Kleypas
Gasping, he held her back from him. “Hannah…sweetheart, I’m…I’ve reached my limits. We have to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“I know, love. But I have to escort you back inside before everyone notices that we’re missing.”
Everything in her rebelled at the thought of returning to the large, crowded ballroom. The talking, dancing, the long formal supper…it would be torture, when all she wanted was to be with him. Daringly, Hannah reached out to toy with the buttons of his waistcoat. “Take me to the bachelor’s house. I’m sure it’s empty. Everyone is at the manor.”
He gave her a sardonic glance. “If I did that, sweetheart, there is no way you would get out of there with your innocence intact.”
“I want you to compromise me,” she told him.
“You do? Why, love?”
“Because I want to be yours in every way.”
“You already are,” he murmured.
“Not that way. Not yet. And even if you don’t compromise me, I’m going to tell everyone that you did. So you may as well do it in actuality.”
Rafe laughed at her threat. “In America,” he told her, “we would say you’re trying to seal the deal.” Gently he framed her face in his hands, and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “But you don’t have to, sweetheart. There’s nothing on earth that will keep me from marrying you. You can trust me.”
“I do trust you. But…”
His brows lifted. “But?”
The skin beneath his fingers warmed a few degrees. “I want you. I want to be close to you. As…as you wrote in the letter.”
He gave her one of those slow smiles that sent hot and cold chills down her spine. “In that case…maybe I’ll compromise you just a little.”
Pulling Hannah up from the bench, Rafe took her with him to the bachelor’s house. He argued with himself every step of the way, knowing the right thing to do was to take her back to the manor without delay. And yet the desire to be alone with her, to hold her in privacy, was simply too powerful and all-encompassing to resist.
They went inside the bachelor’s house, with its dark, stately furniture and paneled walls and luxurious rugs. Coals glowed in the bedroom hearth, spreading a pool of yellow and orange across the floor.
Rafe lit a bedside lamp and turned it low, and turned to look at Hannah. She had shed his coat and was reaching back to unfasten her ballgown. He saw her expression, how she was trying to appear nonchalant as if going to bed with a man were a normal occurrence for her. And he was filled with amusement and tenderness, and the most unholy ache of lust he’d ever experienced.
He went to her and reached around her, closing his hands over hers. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait as long as I have to.”
Hannah tugged her hands free and slipped them behind his neck. “I can’t think of a thing I’d rather be doing,” she told him.
He bent to kiss her compulsively, pausing only to murmur, “Oh, love, neither can I.”
Slowly he removed layers of silk and linen, and unhooked her corset, and rolled the stockings from her legs. When every last garment was gone, and she was stretched blushing on the bed before him, he let his gaze wander along her slender body, and he let out a shaking sigh. She was so beautiful, so innocent and trusting. He touched her breast, molding the softness with fingers that held a slight tremor.
Her gaze lifted to his face. “Are you nervous?” she asked with a touch of surprise.
Rafe nodded, brushing the pad of his thumb over a pink nipple and watching it tighten. “It’s never been an act of love for me before.”
“Does that make it different?”
A wry smile curved his lips as he considered that. “I’m not certain. But there’s one way to find out.”
He undressed himself and lay beside her, gathering her carefully in his arms. Despite the desire raging through his body, he pressed her against him with controlled gentleness, letting her feel him. He slid one hand over her bottom, rubbing in a warm circle.
Her breath caught as she felt the length of him against her. A small hand came to the surface of his chest and explored delicately. “Rafe…how should I touch you?”
He smiled and kissed her throat, savoring the softness and female fragrance of her. “Anywhere, love. Any way you like.” He held still as she played with the light pelt of hair on his chest.
Staring into his eyes, she let her palm drift to the muscles of his abdomen, stroking until they tightened reflexively. She fumbled a little as she grasped his aroused flesh, the hard satiny length alive and pulsing with masculine need. She gave him a few hesitant caresses. His response was so acute that he gasped at the sharply climbing sensation. “Hannah,” he managed to say, reaching down to pull her hand away. “Change of plan. Next time”—he paused, struggling for self-control—“you can explore to your heart’s content, but for now, let me make love to you.”
“Did I do something wrong? Did you not like the way I—”
“I liked it too much. If I liked it any more, this would all be over in less than a minute.” He rose above her and pressed kisses over her body, lingering at her breasts to tug and tease and softly bite. He delighted in the shocks of response he felt in her, the deepening color of arousal, the instinctive way she moved toward him to follow the source of pleasure.
Nudging her thighs open, he rested his hand between them, fitting his palm over the fleecy triangle. And he held her gently until she writhed and moaned, needing more. Sliding downward, Rafe kissed her stomach, letting his tongue trace delicate circles around her navel. He had never been so aroused, so completely absorbed in someone else’s pleasure. The intimacy was nearly unbearable. His breathing was quick and frayed as he found the entrance of her body and teased around it with his fingertip.
“Hannah, darling,” he whispered, “relax for me.” He eased his finger inside the lush, clinging heat. The feel of her was so exquisite, he let out a groan. “I have to kiss you here. I have to taste you. No, don’t be afraid…just let me…oh, Hannah, sweet love…” He dragged his mouth straight through the curls, and searched hungrily until he found the blunt silken peak. His senses were engulfed in radiant pleasure, all his muscles taut with lust. The taste of her, salt and female, was insanely arousing. He drew his tongue over her, flicked and circled, glorying in her helpless cries. He slid his finger deeper, and again, teaching her the rhythm.
She reached down with a low cry, her hands gripping his head. With tender skill he urged her into climax, luxuriating in the soft, pulsing warmth of her body. Long after her release had faded, he stayed with her, drawing his tongue through the rosy heat, easing her into a dreamy afterglow.
“Rafe,” she said thickly, pulling him upward.
Smiling, he levered his body over hers, staring down into her dazed green eyes.
“More,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around his back, holding him to her. “I want more of you.”
Murmuring her name, Rafe lowered his body into the cradle of her thighs. A rush of primitive satisfaction went through him as he felt the enticing softness parting for him. He pushed into the resisting flesh, so hot, so wet, and the deeper he went, the more tightly she closed around him. He thrust deep and held, trying not to hurt her. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, a pleasure beyond imagining. He took her head in his hands and kissed her mouth, while his senses swam in rapture. “I’m sorry, love,” he said in a guttural voice. “So sorry to hurt you.”
Hannah smiled and drew him down to her. “As a foreigner goes to a new country…” she whispered against his ear.
He let out a shaken laugh. “God. You’ll never let me forget that letter, will you?”
“I never even read the whole thing,” she said. “Parts of it were burned. And now I’ll never know everything you said.”
“The passages you missed were probably about this,” he murmured, pushing gently inside her. They both caught their breath and held stil
l, absorbing the feel of it. Rafe pressed a smile against her cheek. “I wrote quite a lot about this.”
“Tell me what you wrote.”
He whispered into her ear, love words and intimate praise, and all the longing he’d felt. And with each word he felt something opening inside him, a sense of freedom and power and perishing tenderness. She moved with him, welcoming him deeper, and the ecstasy of being joined with her roared through him, driving him to a piercing, brilliantly transcending release.
Indeed…love made it different.
Rafe held her for a long time afterward, his hand stroking gently over her back and hip. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Hannah snuggled in the crook of his arm, her body feeling heavy and sated. “Is this real?” she whispered. “It feels like a dream.”
Amusement rumbled in his chest. “It will seem real enough tomorrow morning when I take you back to the manor a fallen woman. If I hadn’t already told Westcliff of my intentions to marry you, I daresay he’d greet me with a horsewhip.”
“You aren’t taking me back tonight?” she asked in pleased surprise.
“No. For one thing, I’ve ruined your coiffure. Second, I don’t have the energy to leave this bed. Third…there’s a distinct possibility that I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Those are all very good reasons.” She sat up and pulled the remaining pearl pins from her hair, and leaned over Rafe to deposit them on the bedside table. Catching her ribs in his hands, he held her over him and kissed her breasts as they were displayed before him. “Rafe,” she protested.
Pausing, he looked up into her blushing face, and he grinned. “Modest?” he asked softly, and tucked her into the crook of his arm again. His lips pressed against her forehead. “Well. Being married to me will cure you of that soon enough.”
Hannah leaned her face against his chest, and he felt the curve of her smile.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Our first night together. And our first morning will be Christmas.”
Rafe patted her naked hip. “And I’ve already unwrapped my present.”
“You’re rather easy to shop for,” she said, making him laugh.
“Always. Because Hannah, my love, the only gift I’ll ever want”—he paused to kiss her smiling lips—“is you.”
Epilogue
On Christmas morning Matthew Swift walked over to the bachelor’s house, his shoes and the hem of his coat dusted with new snow. He knocked at the door and waited patiently until Rafe came to answer it. And with a wry smile, Swift told his brother-in-law, “All I can say is, everyone’s talking. So you’d better marry her quickly.”
There was, of course, no argument on Rafe’s part.
Swift also told him that having been moved by the spirit of the holiday (and the combined pressuring of the entire family), Thomas Bowman had reconsidered his decision to disinherit Rafe, and wished to make peace. Later, over mugs of smoking bishop, a hot drink made with fruit, red wine, and port, the men came to an accord of sorts.
But Rafe did not consent to enter into the joint proprietorship with his father, realizing that the arrangement would undoubtedly be a source of future conflict between them. Instead, he entered into a highly lucrative partnership with Simon Hunt and Westcliff, and turned his abilities to the manufacturing of locomotive engines. This removed much of the burden from Hunt’s shoulders, which made Annabelle happy, and allowed Rafe and Hannah to stay in England, to the pleasure of all.
In future years, Thomas Bowman would forget that Hannah was not the daughter-in-law he had originally wanted for Rafe, and a solid affection developed between them.
Natalie married Lord Travers and they were very happy together. She confided to Hannah that when she had gone to Travers for consolation that Christmas Eve, he had finally kissed her, and it had been a kiss worth waiting for.
Daisy eventually finished her novel, which was published with great popular success, if not critical acclaim.
Evie gave birth later that year to a high-spirited girl with flame-colored curls, leading St. Vincent to the conclusion that it was his destiny to be loved by many red-haired women. He was very pleased.
Hannah and Rafe were married by the end of January, but they always considered their true anniversary to be Christmas, and celebrated accordingly. And every Christmas Eve, Rafe wrote a love letter and left it on her pillow.
Samuel Clark hired a new secretarial assistant, a competent and pleasant young woman. Upon discovering her auspiciously shaped cranium, he married her without delay.
In 1848, a woodcut of the Queen and Prince Albert standing beside their Christmas tree was published in The Illustrated London News, popularizing the custom until soon every parlor was graced with a decorated tree. After viewing the illustration, Lillian rather smugly observed that her tree was much taller.
Thomas Bowman’s toupee, alas, was never found. He was somewhat mollified by the gift of a very fine hat from Westcliff on Christmas Day.
Author’s Note
Dear Friends,
I hope you’ve enjoyed visiting the fictional world of the Wallflowers! Writing this story was a delightful experience for many reasons. I loved being able to include research about Victorian Christmas facts and traditions, and most of all, I had fun spending time with characters I had “lived with” for a number of years. When I create characters, I spend a lot of time developing their backgrounds, and pondering how their experiences form their hopes, dreams, and perceptions about the world. But I truly start learning about a character when I put him into situations with other people. I’ve come to realize that in fiction and in real life, every encounter we have with another person, no matter how fleeting, has the potential to change us…the way we think, the decisions we’ll make in the future.
What I love most about writing a series is seeing the progression of characters from book to book, and as I revisit them, I have the feeling of spending time with old friends. The Wallflower series, the Hathaways, and the Travises have all been rewarding and fulfilling experiences for me as an author. It is my earnest hope that my readers have found similar enjoyment in visiting these fictional worlds with me.
Now I’ve started working on a new series, with a set of characters I’m still becoming acquainted with. The Friday Harbor series takes place in the San Juan Islands, which are part of Washington State—I can’t imagine a more beautiful or vibrant setting for a novel. The series centers on the Nolan brothers, who have to learn that there is more to being a family than mere blood ties. As I follow them through these upcoming novels, exploring themes of love, family, loyalty, and commitment, I hope you’ll come along for the ride.
We’ll meet some of these new characters in the soon-to-be-released Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor, when the oldest Nolan brother, Mark, becomes the guardian of his orphaned niece Holly. In her letter to Santa, Holly asks for just one thing…a new mom for Christmas. As Mark struggles to create a family for Holly, his life goes in directions he never anticipated, and he discovers that sometimes the heart has a will of its own…
Thank you as always for your kindness and encouragement—my readers always inspire me to search my heart and try to do my very best!
Wishing you happiness always,
Lisa
Take a sneak peek at Lisa Kleypas’s latest novel
CHRISTMAS EVE AT FRIDAY HARBOR
Coming in hardcover in October 2010 from St. Martin’s Press
Chapter One
Three weeks before Christmas, Mark found the letter.
It had been left in a pile on the table in Halle’s playroom, tucked into an envelope made with Scotch tape, construction paper, and glittery star stickers.
Dear Santa,
I think I am on the nice list. I don’t want any presents this year except for one thing. I need a new mom. I may not get one because I heard nowadays its hard to find a good woman. But if you know one, please drop her off at Friday Harbor.
Love,
Halle
“Damn it,” Mark whispered. He read the letter again, an eight-year-old girl’s Christmas wish for something that every child deserved. A mother.
He wasn’t ready for the bolt of pain that shot through his chest. That was the strange thing about grieving—even when you thought you’d gotten over the worst of it, it could still hit you just as hard as it did the first moment you heard the words she’s gone.
He’d gotten that call six months ago.
“I’m so sorry…I’m a friend of Virginia and Phil’s, I’m watching over Halle and the police just called and…” The babysitter had started crying, forcing out words between sobs, and it took a minute or two for Mark to understand that his sister and her husband had been in a car wreck in Seattle. Their sedan had hydroplaned and crossed into oncoming traffic, where they’d been broadsided. They had both died instantly.
There had been a feeling of unreality about the situation, a layer of numbness covering a reservoir of pain that Mark had no idea how to deal with. Nolans didn’t do well with loss, any more than they knew what to do with happiness. In a family that had not exactly been equipped for emotional closeness, Virginia had been the only one who had managed to draw them all together on occasion. Mark had been fine with seeing Virginia and his younger brother Sam during the obligatory once-a-year get-together at Christmas. Other than that, he sent e-mails or texted once in a blue moon. He had seen no point in sharing their lives with each other.
Virginia’s death had changed everything.
His sister had neglected to mention to Mark that she and Phil had named him as Halle’s guardian if anything ever happened to them. As a man who hated to be tied down, who enjoyed his fast-paced and disposable lifestyle, Mark was the last man on the planet who should have been named as anyone’s guardian. It was Halle’s rotten luck, however, that he was her best option, the other potential guardian being Sam.