Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection)

by Jillian Eaton

  “It’s not,” she muttered, looking away.

  “You can sleep in the bedroom with the door closed, and I will be quite comfortable in front of the fire. I fear there is not any food, but hopefully we will be able to leave first thing in the morning and you will be home before breakfast.”

  Lily set her cloak aside and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. It wobbled to the right, but held firm. Perching her elbow on the table, she adopted a scowl all her own. “And then what?” she challenged.

  James’ eyebrows darted together. “What do you mean?”

  “Of course you do not understand. You are a man, and such things do not concern you.” Her agitation increased, although whether it was at herself or him or the male species in general she could not be certain. Stupid, she chided herself. You are so very stupid, Lily, and now you are going to have to pay the consequences for your impulsive actions. Unless… She straightened in her chair. Unless you really do become spoiled goods, and the man doing the spoiling is forced to offer marriage.

  She was grasping. She knew she was. Not to mention being quite underhanded, scheming, and devious – three traits she abhorred above all others. But with the deadline of Christmas breathing down her neck, what other choice did she have?

  Family had always been of utmost importance to Lily. She would rather die than see her mother and sister be turned into beggars… Or, in this case, trick a man into marrying her by the worst means imaginable.

  Her fingers began to thrum against the table. James would hate her in the end, and she would hate herself. But her mother and Elsa would have a future free from worry, and wasn’t that all that mattered?

  It really wasn’t so different from what all the other women of her station did, she convinced herself as she watched James stoke the fire from beneath her lashes. Flocking to eligible men like pigeons to bread crumbs, pecking away until the poor fellow eventually gave up and gave in. She was simply being more upfront about the whole thing. In a not-quite-telling-the-truth sort of way.

  If her plan failed she would be no better or worse off than before, the only exception being she really would be giving up her virginity, but then everyone would think she had anyways so really, what was the point of holding onto it?

  With each day passing by quicker than the last it really was her best chance at securing a husband. Her only chance, if truth be told. Again she wondered at the nuances of fate. What intricate threads of destiny and happenstance had brought her to this very moment, with this very man? Would her choices this eve create ripples of consequence that ultimately destroy her future? Or was this somehow, someway, how things were supposed to happen? Her fingers increased in tempo, striking the table hard enough to send little jolts of pain shooting up into her wrist.

  “Can you stop that incessant tapping?” Standing, James turned in a half circle and skewered her with a glare that would have no doubt brought a weaker female to tears. Lily merely lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him.

  “They are my fingers,” she said, “and I will do with them what I please.”

  “Stubborn wench,” he growled under his breath.

  “Arrogant brute.”

  “Spoiled brat.”

  Lily sat up a little straighter. Two could play at this game. “Caper witted bounder.”

  “Featherbrained peagoose.”

  “Bacon-brained fatwit!”

  James choked out a laugh. It sounded rusty, as though he hadn’t laughed at anything in a very, very long time. “Bacon-brained fatwit?” he repeated, tilting his head to the side.

  Lily shrugged. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

  “Are you not in the habit of slinging insults?”

  “No,” she said, biting back a smile. “Not precisely. I fear you bring out the worst in me.” In more ways than you can possibly imagine, she added silently. Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she shoved it aside. She could not afford to feel guilty. Not if she wanted to do what needed to be done.

  But how? Planning on losing her virginity was far different than actually doing the deed. Lily was accustomed to doing things herself, but she feared this was one of the few things she would be unable to accomplish solely on her own. She would need James’ cooperation – his willing cooperation – if she wanted to set her plan in motion. Which meant she needed to stop insulting the man and start seducing him. Resolving herself to go through with the dirty deed, she did a quick glance around the room, taking stock of her surroundings.

  Mr. Betram was curled up beneath the kitchen table, his soft rhythmic snores indicating he was sound asleep. Outside the small, cozy confines of the cottage snow continued to fall, banking up against the door and windows. There was no doubt about it. They would be stranded here for the remainder of the day and night… with no hope of leaving until morning.

  “I am cold,” she said abruptly.

  Lifting up one of the heavy wing chairs, James positioned it until it sat directly in front of the hearth. “Sit,” he said, gesturing with his arm before he stepped back. “I have to go find more firewood. There is not enough to get us through the night.”

  Lily froze halfway to the chair. “You are leaving?” she asked incredulously.

  “I should not be gone long. I noticed a shed not far from here on our ride in. It most likely is part of the same estate this cottage belongs to, and may have wood inside it. I will not be gone long,” he repeated, frowning at her expression. “You needn’t be afraid.”

  “I am not afraid. I… Well, I…” But of course she couldn’t give voice to the real reason she wanted James to stay – just imagining it forced a horrified chuckle past her lips. Excuse me, but you cannot go anywhere because I need to seduce you. Why? Well, because I need you to take my virginity. Why? So you will feel obliged to marry me and my inheritance stays with my mother and sister instead of going to horrible Cousin Eustace. Oh, and by the by, all of this needs to be done before Christmas. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, Lily sank into the wing chair and stared blindly into the fire. Another bubble of panicked laughter threatened, but she swallowed it down. Out of the corner of her eye she saw James hesitate at the door, twin lines of concern digging grooves into the corners of his chin.

  “Go on,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand. “Mr. Betram and I will be fine.”

  “Do not go outside,” he said sternly.

  Lily twisted in her chair to face him, digging her fingers into the dusty upholstery. “Outside?” she echoed. She forced a smile. “I fear only bacon-brained fatwits would dare go outside in this weather.”

  The walls of the cottage reverberated as James slammed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  James struck out blindly into the snow, squinting into the wall of white and doing his best to forge a straight line. He kept an old decaying oak tree on his left. A short, fanned out mulberry on his right. Sucking in the cold, clear air by the mouthful he doubled over a short distance from the cottage, bracing his forearm across his knees and drawing a ragged breath.

  There was no wood to gather. A box built into the wall next to the hearth housed more firewood than could be burned all winter. It had been an excuse. An excuse to get him out of the cottage. To get him away from her before he did something for which there was no excuse.

  He couldn’t breathe in her presence. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. She incapacitated him, sinking into his blood like the most deadliest of poisons, leaving him bewildered and off kilter, not knowing what way was up, what way was down.

  The woman had made him laugh.

  No one could do that, not even Natalie.

  Running a hand through his hair – he had forgotten his hat inside – James pulled the curled ends taut with just enough pressure to cause pain. The pain cleared his head and helped him focus. He straightened, his resolve returning as he doubled back to check on Biscuit. The horse was tucked away in a three sided structure behind the cottage. He whickered contentedl
y as his master approached and James wrapped his arm around the gelding’s neck, breathing in the familiar, calming scent of horse and hay.

  “Are you going to be all right out here old chap?”

  Biscuit, attentive as always, bobbed his head and swiveled his head to stare at James, his dark brown eyes both inquisitive and somehow amused, as though he knew his master’s dilemma and thought it quite hilarious.

  “Remember that gray mare you took a fancy to a few years ago?” James asked, speaking to Biscuit as though the horse could understand him, which James often thought he could. “Bellowed like a banshee every time she trotted past. You didn’t have any shame, did you?”

  Biscuit snorted.

  “I did not understand you then, but I fear I do now.” He imagined how Lily would be as a horse. Beautiful, of course. An elegant thoroughbred with long legs, a lean body, and a refined head. High spirited, with a flash of temper. Stubborn, with a keen sense of intelligence. Difficult to ride, no doubt. Impossible to train. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.

  He never should have stopped when he saw her on the road. Never should have dismounted. Never should have agreed to help find her damn dog. Now he would be forced to endure her presence not for a minute or an hour or even a day, but for an entire bloody night. A night in a cottage with walls so thin as to be nonexistent, listening to every toss and turn of her slender body as she slept. A night spent wondering what her creamy skin felt like… dreaming what her lips tasted like… imagining what—

  With a curse James spun away from Biscuit and clipped the thought short. He needed to get himself under control, starting with exerting the same strict discipline over his emotions that he’d once used on the battlefield. Taking a deep, measuring breath he slapped a hand against his horse’s broad shoulder in a gesture of farewell and started back towards the cottage, drawn by the soft glow of firelight emanating from the windows.

  The cold rush of air woke her. It swept across her skin like ice, rousing her from a contented slumber filled with blurred images of church bells and white lace and a tall, rugged man with dark hair and piercing eyes.

  Lily sat up with a start, wondering at the sudden pain in her neck until she realized she’d fallen asleep in the wing chair with her head tucked into the crook of her elbow. The fire had died low, the embers smoldering a deep red, indicating at least an hour of time had elapsed since she first closed her eyes. She heard the click of a door being closed, the quiet trod of footsteps, and then…

  “I did not mean to wake you.”

  James’ voice, low pitched and gravelly. The sound of it did the oddest things to her belly, making her feel as though she’d swallowed a dozen butterflies and the poor trapped creatures were flitting to and fro inside of her, frantically beating their wings in an effort to escape.

  She remained in the chair but peered around the side of it, the better to see him. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, still as a statue. A fine layer of snow was spread out across his broad shoulders. Flecks of white fell to the floor as he shrugged out of his heavy coat and set it aside on the window ledge. More snow glistened in his hair, melting to water as they studied each other, both unmoving.

  “You do not have any wood,” Lily noted.

  James shook his head. “No,” he said quietly.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Suddenly self-conscious, she ran her fingers through her hair, knowing it must look a mess.

  She’d tried a simple braid while James was outside, but her hair was still damp, the strands impossible to coerce into any semblance of order, and so she left them undone, letting the tangled curls dry by firelight. She dropped her chin, glancing down at her blue muslin gown. It was frightfully wrinkled, the fabric pulled taut in some placed and bunched in others. She bit the inside of her cheek and fought the urge to roll her eyes at herself. Well done Lily, she chided silently. Certainly the best way to seduce a man is to have your hair a mess and your dress twisted up around your ankles. Heavens. She wasn’t very good at this, was she? Not that there was a book written on such things. Or, if there was, she had never read it.

  “Stop it,” she said as she lifted her head and realized James was still looking at her with the same forceful intensity, his eyes shimmering pools of dark in the soft glow of the room.

  “Stop what?”

  She gripped the armrest, frustrated that nothing was going as it should. “Stop staring at me as though… well, as though…”

  “As though you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen? I cannot,” he said softly. “Not when your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are heavy with sleep and your lips are still wet from where you touched them with your tongue.”

  The butterflies went crazy. Lily went pale. For a man who so rarely speaks, she thought dazedly, he certainly knows how to put the right words together. And for once, for the first time she could ever remember, she was the one who couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “I… I…”

  Sliding out of his boots, James stepped forward. “I have tried to deny it, but you have felt it too, haven’t you? In the ballroom, and then in the study.” His expression bemused, as though he himself couldn’t quite believe what he was saying, he shook his head. “You are without doubt the most antagonizing woman I have ever met… and the most desirable.”

  He was coming closer, Lily noted. Close enough for her to see his face without shadow. Close enough for her to touch. Close enough for him to reach out and gently, so gently as to barely be felt at all, cup her jaw and tilt her head up. His fingers threaded through the curls that framed her face and she leaned into his hand, helpless not to rub her cheek against the calloused skin of his palm. “T-thank you?” she managed to squeak, not certain if he was paying a compliment, not certain if she remembered what he’d said at all.

  James growled low in his throat. It wasn’t an angry sound. More of a frustrated surrender, although what he was surrendering she hadn’t the faintest idea. “You should stop me,” he said huskily. His mouth hovered a hair’s breadth above her own, so close she could see the dark line of stubble on his chin. Their eyes met, their gazes held. For an instant Lily forgot to breathe, and when she finally released the air trapped in her lungs it came out in a rush.

  “What if I do not want to?” she whispered.

  Something flashed in James’ eyes. Something dark. Something dangerous. Something so thrilling Lily felt her toes curl. “Then heaven help you,” he murmured before he lowered his mouth to hers.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lily was burning up and it wasn’t just because she was rolling around on the floor in front of the hearth, although that certainly had something to do with it. James was igniting flames inside of her… and he was setting her on fire.

  Shadow and light reflected off his skin in equal measure as he settled himself beside her, resting, Lily could not help but notice, on the left side of his body. She laid flat on her back, one arm crooked behind her head, the other wound around James’ waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world to mold her body against his.

  He was kissing her slowly, his mouth moving with lingering softness over her lips, occasionally drifting lower to suckle the curve of her jaw or higher to tickle the sensitive bud of her earlobe.

  In the past, Lily’s kisses had always been stolen in the dark; a quick, almost painful mating of lip and tongue that left her mouth bruised and her heart feeling oddly hollow. Never in a hundred years had she imagined kissing could be like this.

  James took his time with her, as though she were a fine wine meant to be sipped and cherished, not a rough shot of brandy to be quickly swallowed. His fingers were tracing an ever lengthening path down her body, starting from the flat plane of her stomach and moving down along the curve of her hip before reversing direction and gliding back up towards her breasts. Never truly touching where she ached for him most, and before long she was arching into his hand, silently begging for something she could not name b
ut desperately wanted.

  The kissing continued, filling her with an ache so keen she would have done anything to satisfy it. As though he could sense her growing frustration James murmured low in his throat, a soft, soothing sound that did little to alleviate her growing passion. She opened her eyes.

  “Would you just hurry up with it?” she snapped before she quite knew what she was saying. Silence followed and she could feel her cheeks growing warmer. Now was not the time for talking, let alone barking orders. Oh, why couldn’t she just be quiet and let what was going to happen bloody well happen? Because you are an impatient hussy, she scolded herself, and you are going to ruin everything if you don’t keep your trap shut. He is kissing you, is he not? Remain calm! Easier to think than do, especially when it felt as though her entire body was being consumed by flames of desire. In hindsight she supposed it was a very good thing they had not kissed in the study, for instead of Sarah walking in on her sitting by herself in a dark room, she feared her friend would have interrupted something much more scandalous.

  Why James was going through with it now when he had run before she did not have the faintest of ideas, nor was she about it question his reasons. All she knew was it felt heavenly, and despite the wrongness of it all it felt so right, and she really did want him to hurry.

  As though he could sense the direction of her thoughts James paused in his kissing and nuzzled the curve of her neck. “I want to rip all the clothes off your body,” he whispered against her warm skin, “and thrust inside of you so hard you scream my name.”

  “Oh,” Lily breathed.

  His smile was quick to reveal itself and even quicker to retreat; a mere flashing of white teeth that never quite reached his eyes. “But that would be screwing, not lovemaking, and a woman like you is deserving of the latter.”

  Leaning towards him, she sat up on her elbow. The bodice of her dress brushed against his shirt and without thinking she reached out to toy with the starched edge of his collar. “A woman like me? And what sort of woman do you suppose I am?”