An Eternity of You

by Sophia Garrett

  Cool air descended over her a heartbeat before the fabric of his trousers scraped pleasantly over her exposed skin. She lifted her hips to meet his descent, cradling him with her body as he pressed them into the bed once more. The feel of his arousal against her sensitized flesh drew a gasp from her throat.

  Andrew murmured a soft unintelligible sound of pleasure.

  And then he was gone, his body leaving hers completely as he rose to his knees and tugged her upright to divest her of the rest of her nightgown. Her hands fell to his shoulders, dropped to the hem of his shirt. Holding his gaze, reveling in the desire that glinted in his eyes, she eased her hands beneath the fine linen and guided it upward. His warm skin beneath her palms was headier than any fine wine. When those muscles tensed as he sucked in a sharp breath, she smiled and drew the garment over his head.

  “I have missed touching you, Andrew.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

  His hand fell to the crown of her head. “Touch all you wish, my sweet. There is nothing more perfect.”

  Oh, she wanted to. She thrilled at the prospect of taking her time and relearning every inch of his body. But there was something she craved even more, the feeling of utter completeness that claimed her soul when he united them as one. Her fingertips drifted over his corded abdomen to the closures on his trousers. His entire body froze, his breath hung suspended.

  “Andrew, make love to me.” With a twist of her wrist, she released his confined erection.

  His held breath came out in a hard rush. Beneath her fingertips, she felt him tremble, a vibration that matched the unsteady rhythm thrumming through her body. She lay back on the bed, watching in fascination as he stripped away his clothing and tossed it casually aside. In the moonlight he was large and imposing, his body honed from years of physical activity outdoors and every bit as youthful as she remembered. Yet beneath all that corrugated strength lay a tenderness that radiated out from the gentle sweep of his hands as they drifted over the tops of her thighs and across her belly.

  A soft, almost shy smile quirked on his mouth, but he said nothing as he eased his body onto hers. The depth of emotion that reflected in his tender gaze stuttered her heart into a ridiculous girlish rhythm. There were promises in his eyes, words she didn’t dare allow herself to believe. To stop the fantasy of a future together from bursting to life, she cupped her palm against his cheek and protested, “This can’t become habit.”

  Andrew’s lips clasped hers. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  Later. Yes, when she could focus on logic, when the scrape of his hand as it slid across her bare hip didn’t snag her senses. Her breath caught as his fingers skimmed across her abdomen again, then dipped lower, finding the space between her thighs. She gasped against a wave of ecstasy. “Oh, Andrew.”

  Bliss compounded as he drew her nipple deeply into his mouth. The way his velvety tongue swirled against the sensitive nub made pleasure writhe and swirl within her. Her fingers found his thick hair, and she buried them in the dark waves. This, this, was what she remembered: the way Andrew made her need something she could not comprehend, the way she felt that she might shatter into pieces if he did not give it to her. That she might, somehow, fail to survive without him, though life proved she could.

  But had she really survived? Without him, life was bleak and incomplete. In his arms like this, at mercy to whatever he wished of her body, colors painted the drab canvas and poverty became great riches.

  The need for completion gnawed at her from the inside. She tugged on his hair, turned her head to whisper at his ear. “Fill me, Andrew. Make me part of you.”

  His low groan spoke of the same soul-deep yearning. He shifted his hips to more fully cover her; she parted her thighs, making room for him to settle between her legs. The swollen tip of him slid over her clitoris, wresting from her another needy moan.

  It occurred to her then that Andrew had stopped moving. She lifted her lashes. Braced on his hands, he was utterly still, the lines etched into his face alerting her to the great amount of control it required to remain unmoving. Rebecca queried him with a tiny frown.

  His faint smile erased her momentary worry. He gave a slight shake of his head. “I intend to remember exactly how you look right now.”

  Oh. Oh. Warmth slid through her veins from head to toe. It only began to slip away when Andrew pressed his hips forward and inched the length of him inside her. A gasp caught in her throat. He stretched her tight, filled her almost painfully. And then her body let go around him, opening to accept his hard length, taking him as deep as he could go.

  His shudder vibrated into her. “Rebecca, I could stay here a lifetime.”

  Then do. A lifetime of this—she didn’t dare let the possibility take root in her heart. But Andrew withdrew, eased himself back in, and made it impossible to consider any other future but that of them together. She closed her eyes with a smile, wrapped her arms around him, and pushed against his steady thrusts.

  They moved together, a tangle of limbs and mouths, questing, seeking, chasing after the completion they brought to one another. He pressed inside her deep and with such intensity. Stroking her again and again, until she welled with so much feeling she feared she would burst if he did not stop.

  But she didn’t want him to stop. No, she wanted him to feel the same cataclysmic combination of emotion that roiled through her veins. The same need, the ache, the hunger.

  Rapture splintered through her. She arched her back, rose up against his body, gasping brokenly. His labored breathing rasped against her ear as he went utterly still for a timeless heartbeat. In the next, a guttural sound rumbled in his throat, and she felt him swell deep within her. Around him, her body pulsed.

  Andrew wound an arm around her waist and lowered her back against the mattress. As he settled on his elbows, his weight pinning her comfortably to the bed, a smile formed on his mouth. She traced her index finger over his lips, down his chin, and stopped at the hollow at the base of his throat. His skin was damp, like hers.

  “I love you, Andrew.”

  Unmoving, he closed his eyes for a long moment, then leaned in to answer with a sweet, lingering kiss. “Which is why this must become habit. I cannot bear the thought of leaving you. Stay forever with me, Rebecca.”

  Forever. The word echoed through her head, tugging her heart into one joyous leap after another. A lifetime of Andrew. Nights like this. Days spent…how?

  She tending to patients while he oversaw the manor, both waiting for the time they could be together in the dark, while the entire town observed, no one daring to comment on their duke’s mistress but all the while knowing she was. Anguish lanced through her. They had no future, no forever. And no matter how Andrew might feel about her, or she about him, they both needed to consider Alice and Thomas. Alice would suffer more than everyone. She didn’t deserve shame hanging over her family name. And when that shame touched her and she became affected by it, Andrew would rightfully put things at an end.

  Shaking off the momentary lapse in reasoning, she pulled her hand back and separated them entirely. When his confused gaze latched on to hers, she shook her head. “Can’t you see you’ll destroy me all over again? We have no future. I am the surgeon. You are the duke.”

  A heartbeat passed before a dark frown settled on his brow. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s precisely why we can do as we please—I am the duke.” He punctuated his mild reprimand with a chaste kiss to her forehead.

  Rebecca steeled her resolve. She knew what shame felt like, and if the villagers had not needed her so, she would still be suffering it. “I can’t be your mistress. This cannot happen again, Andrew. Let us keep these memories alive, but employ logic, I beg you.”

  As if her words fell on deaf ears, he tucked an arm around her waist and dragged her close. “Let us sleep on this and discuss it in the morning.”

  “Morning?” she asked with a touch of surprise. “You cannot mean to stay? What about Alice?”
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  He drew back as if she’d asked him whether fish had gills. “I had not intended to run away in the middle of the night. Fortescue and my housekeeper will see to Alice if she needs anything during the night.”

  Horror flashed over Rebecca and she pushed at his shoulders. “You cannot stay, Andrew. Thomas will see you. If patients come, they will see you. The entire town will be agog with gossip before nightfall tomorrow! And then what will you do? What will I do, for it is never the man who bears the burden.” She pushed again at his shoulder, more determinedly. “I have no desire to be the subject of scandal again. I love you, but this is all we can have. No more.”

  The incredulity that had registered in his gaze morphed into a stern, disapproving frown. “You are being nonsensical. But I will go if it is your wish.” Lifting himself away, he sat on the edge of the bed. “We are not finished with this discussion by any means.”

  “There is nothing to discuss.” Her heart twisted at the truth, but there was nothing for it—he could not cast everything aside to bind himself to the working class as long as his daughter’s future was unsecured.

  “You really want me to leave?” he asked as he reached for his trousers.

  “Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

  His mouth crimped with disapproval and perhaps a touch of anger, but he pulled on his trousers. She watched, longing to strip away the clothes he donned and drag him back into the bed. Searching for words that could somehow ease the awkward silence that had spoiled the beauty of the night.

  He pushed off the bed and strode to the door, his steps slower than usual. There, he stopped to regard her. “I will not concede so easily, Rebecca. Tomorrow, we will talk.”

  She barely had time to nod before he stepped through the doorway.

  Chapter Eight

  Evergreen sagged around Andrew’s shoulders, tangling him in pine needles and red berries.

  With a muttered curse, he shoved at the twisting boughs to free his arm and push the sagging adornment back onto the wire ceiling hook. His entire morning had gone like this—one mess after another. The housekeeper had refused to climb the ladder, leaving Christmas decorating to him. His driver was again missing—a habit Andrew would put a stop to once the man showed his face again. And the new cook had dumped an entire kettle of water all over the floor. Never before had he looked forward to the arrival of new servants and all the chaos that came with such. The few days he’d survived on his meager staff had pushed him to the end of his patience.

  He glared again at the greenery. If he’d slept at all, he might have been more accepting of the decoration’s disobedience. But he’d gone to bed hard and aching for Rebecca, and the resulting dreams kept him up all night. She was wrong. Damnably so. But she could be as stubborn as a mule when she wrapped her mind around an idea. Unwrapping that mind plagued him. He must find a way to convince her they could have the future they had always desired.

  He moved to the next hook, only to have the evergreen topple off the last. “God damn it!” How did the servants ever accomplish this nonsense?

  “Daddy?” Alice entered the dining hall at the far end of the room. She’d been playing with her dolls in the adjoining room and strangely silent all morning.

  Grumbling beneath his breath, Andrew summoned his patience and scowled at the yew branches. “Yes, sweetheart?” He anticipated her usual lecture on taking the Lord’s name in vain.

  “Thomas said he was my brother. Is that true?”

  The question so shocked Andrew, he nearly toppled off his ladder. Grabbing the side rail, he managed to steady himself enough so he could shrug out of the fresh greenery and cast an astounded look at his daughter.

  She stared back, her head tipped at a curious angle, the furrowing of her brow both accusatory and puzzled. Like she resented his decision to keep the news to himself until he had determined the best solution for all of them.

  Oh, hell.

  Slowly, Andrew made his way down the ladder and crouched in front of Alice to look her in the eye. He could not lie. “Yes, Thomas is your brother. Your half-brother, to be precise.”

  “But Rebecca is his mother, not Mum?”

  Andrew bit back another curse. “Yes, Alice. It is very complicated, and I’ll explain when you are older. Suffice it to say Rebecca means a great deal to me.”

  That seemed to satisfy her. She shrugged her shoulders then added, “I like him.”

  This was unchartered territory; Andrew proceeded with caution. “I do as well. We’ll be spending time together, I’m certain.”

  She glanced around the room, taking in the half-hung greenery and the long table that would hold their Christmas feast tomorrow. Her frown returned, setting Andrew’s instincts on alert.

  “What is it, Alice?” he asked cautiously.

  She hesitated, then blurted, “It’s Christmas Eve, Daddy. Families belong together.”

  Christ, could this become any more awkward? He sighed and clutched one of her hands. “Miss Rebecca is not family, angel. That is the problem.”

  Alice’s expression turned petulant. “Then make it so.”

  He would like nothing more. Rebecca, however, had her own ideas. Andrew sighed. “It’s not that easy—”

  “Why not?” She peered at him as if he had grown three ears. “A duke can do whatever he pleases.” She patted his shoulder with a dainty hand. “I love you, Daddy, but sometimes you are very boring. My brother should be here so we can play together.”

  Just like that, the simplicity of it all struck Andrew. Convincing Rebecca wasn’t a matter of coercing her into seeing his side of the argument. He simply needed to prove to her this was the life they all needed. The family they needed.

  “You’re right, Alice.” Standing, he murmured, “So very right.” And he would begin by taking Christmas to Rebecca and filling their lives so full of joy today that she couldn’t argue when he proposed. Besides, her house wasn’t as large, the ceilings nowhere near as tall, and he’d likely have better luck hanging greenery there than here. He yanked on the yew, pulling it off a hook.

  Alice’s entire face lit with joy. “So you’ll fetch them?”

  Andrew shook his head as he tugged the evergreen off another hook. “No, we’re going there. But I need your help, Alice. I want to surprise them. Would you feel like conspiring with me?”

  Her grin deepened with mischief. “Of course, Daddy. What are we doing?”

  Before Andrew could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Andrew stilled while Fortesque answered. In moments, the soft lilt of Rebecca’s voice drifted to his ears. He arched an eyebrow, genuinely surprised she would call of her own accord. Had she changed her mind? Gently, he set the yew down. “It would seem, perhaps, our plan is unnecessary.”

  With baited breath, Andrew watched the doorway.

  Rebecca entered, her steps hesitant, her expression uncertain. “Andrew, I need to speak with you.”

  Doing his best to ignore the fierce demand to fall upon his knees and beg her to marry him, he replied, “Of course.” He glanced behind her at the doorway. “Where is Thomas?”

  “With Mrs. Clemsley.” She twisted gloved hands at her waist. “I wish to discuss the matter of my waking from a perfectly restful slumber with bright sunlight pouring down on my face and a cold wind whipping through the hole where my roof should be. I never asked for charity.”

  The thatcher—Andrew swallowed a hearty guffaw.

  …

  Tickled. That’s what James Pelligrove had said she ought to be when he finally spit out that Andrew had arranged for him to restore her entire roof today. When she had further suspected—knowing Andrew as she did—the new roof wasn’t the only meddling he’d engaged in, she began to ask questions of the patients that drifted in, spouting kind words about the Duke of Sharrington. She discovered her debt settled with the apothecary. The butcher arrived to claim the stray chicken, exchanging a credit of ten fresh carcasses. Topping it all off was the arrival of a young redhead, repo
rting for duties.

  A damnable grin tugged at Andrew’s mouth. Rebecca scowled harder. His overtures only served to remind her of the sad state of their circumstance. She would rather be destitute than have the entire village suspecting she received his kindnesses because she shared his bed. “I am quite concerned about,” her gaze dropped to Alice as she chose her words carefully, “certain implications that will be presumed.”

  Andrew set his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, bent to whisper in her ear, then shooed her out the opposite door with a pat on the top of her head. Turning to face Rebecca, he freed his broad grin. “I see.” He strode closer, crossing the room like a cat might stalk a mouse. “Did you not need the new roof?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “And you can order what you need from the apothecary now, correct?” He clasped her elbow.

  She glanced at his hand, thrilled by his touch, her senses warring with his logic. “That is not the point. We—”

  With lifted brows, he cocked his head and caught both her hands. “Did he tell you also that he will fill the people’s needs, regardless of their ability to pay? Or did he keep that to himself, as I asked him to do?”

  Rebecca twisted to escape the unsettling warmth in his moss-green eyes. He was too close, her defenses too worn down after last night. She needed him to understand that while she appreciated his generosity, things like this were precisely what she feared the most. People were already glancing at her like they knew exactly what she’d done with Andrew last night. Rumors would fly again. Snide remarks made when she walked down the street. It was only a matter of time.