A Seduction at Christmas

by Cathy Maxwell

  He was so gentle, so kind, that he broke her heart. It split wide open and all the anger and hate and loathing, all the sadness and loss, every bit of it spilled out.

  She was embarrassed that she sobbed like a child. Not wanting the pain but afraid to live without it.

  But he held her. He didn’t let go.

  And there wrapped in his arms, she felt the person she had become, the one who struggled, who didn’t trust, who couldn’t trust, that Fiona died.

  What had kept her apart from the world melted. Vanished. Disappeared completely and leaving her whole…born anew.

  “You came to heal me,” she said, her words filled with wonder.

  “Ah, Fee, you heal me,” he whispered against her hair. “In the midst of all the lies, you are there to keep me sane.”

  Her tears dried. The sadness that had been so much a part of her life was now gone.

  She listened to the steady, strong rhythm of his heart and knew it beat for her.

  He looked down at her, his eyes lost in shadows. When he walked toward the bed, she made no protest.

  Gently, he laid her on the mattress. His hand smoothed back her hair as one would a child’s. From the moment she’d met him, her body had instinctively been drawn toward him. Now both her head and her heart said this man was like no other.

  But he surprised her. “Sleep, Fee,” he said quietly. “It will all be as it should.” He started to straighten and she realized he was going to leave. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he started but she cut him off by grabbing the material of his shirt, curling her hands in it, and, rising up to her knees, holding him with a kiss.

  This wasn’t like the others they had shared. In this kiss she said all that she’d not yet found words for. She knew she loved him.

  She knew he loved her, too.

  His arms came around her. The kiss deepened. Their tongues met and if there was a way to drink each other’s souls, they would have done it. She wasn’t going to let him go. Not now. Not ever.

  Perhaps there could never be anything lasting between them. He was a duke and she a seamstress. She’d never consent to be a man’s paid companion. There was too much pride in her.

  But there could be something pure, something outside the bonds of society, something just for the two of them.

  This time, he didn’t pull away. She felt the length and strength of his arousal. He wanted her.

  Memories of her rape teased the edges of her mind, but love had made her strong. She didn’t want to be a victim of this fear any longer. She wanted to be free of it. The moment to face all demons had come.

  She tugged on his shirt, pulling it up and then over his head. She tossed it aside.

  His muscles were hard and well formed. This man was not the soldiers who had attacked her. Their skin had been pasty and their expressions ugly. Their expressions had been ugly and mean. They’d wanted to hurt her.

  In contrast, Holburn’s eyes were so filled with care and concern, she felt humbled before him.

  She gathered her night dress and lifted it up over her head.

  Holburn released his breath with a sigh of appreciation. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Perfect.”

  It was the praise she needed to hear. He kissed her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her hair. His arms drew her to him. Her breasts flattened against his chest and she reveled in the feeling of his skin against hers.

  They slowly sank down onto the feather mattress. He took a moment then to pull off his boots and remove his breeches. His hands were clumsy. She understood how he felt.

  Her fear was that she’d feel revulsion at the sight of his arousal.

  She didn’t.

  He was beautiful. Completely.

  The duke curved his body protectively around her. Fiona didn’t know what to do next, but he did. She gave herself over to him as best as she could, focusing on the ceiling and reminding herself this was right, this was good.

  His hands cupped her breasts. Her body responded to him as it always did. When he circled her bare nipple with his thumb, she gasped in pleasure. His lips against her neck curved into a smile.

  “It’s not so bad, is it?” he said.

  Had he realized her fear? “No,” she whispered.

  “Now, you touch me.”

  His soft command caught her off guard. She didn’t know what to do.

  “You can’t do anything wrong, Fee. Lovemaking is supposed to have a bit of bungling. Sometimes, that’s when the best things happen.”

  Fiona heaved a big sigh. It would be so easy to stay curled up against him, but her body was beginning to want more. The next move, whether it was clumsy or proper or whatever, was up to her.

  Tentatively, she rubbed her palm over his breast. She was surprised when his skin responded to her touch.

  In fact, a glance told her that all of him responded to that gentle, cautious caress. Even his toes.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  Fiona kissed his neck the way he’d kissed hers. He drew in his breath, his quiet laughter one of joy. She nibbled her way up to his ear, enjoying the texture of his whiskers, loving the masculine, night air smell of his skin.

  With growing boldness, she ran her hand down his arm, along his ribs. He was solid, hard where she was soft and it was as it should be. Her hand traveled over the plane of his stomach. Here the muscles rippled beneath her fingertips as if he was tickled. She couldn’t resist circling his belly button with her finger.

  This time, he laughed aloud and caught her hand. “You minx,” he whispered. “Now you know my weakness.”

  A sense of power as old as time gave Fiona courage. He was ticklish. The discovery took away her last trace of timidity.

  She’d not thought hard about the mysteries between a man and a woman since her rape. In a general way, she’d understood what should be done. The rape had cruelly taught her realities—or so she had thought.

  Now she realized there was more to the joining of a man and a woman. She’d not imagined humor could be part of it, or kindness and yet here it was.

  She wondered what else she didn’t know.

  Deliberately, she ran her hand down the length of his erection and was surprised by its baby-smooth softness.

  “You are a wicked one, Fee,” Holburn said. He lay still, his eyes closed and a huge smile across his face.

  “Am I, Your Grace?” she asked, the coyness coming from some secret feminine side of her she’d forgotten had once existed. She’d been the belle of the kirk, the reigning princess at the country dances.

  “You are,” he answered, his voice warm with desire as he reached for her hand and pressed it to him. She held him now, felt the power in him. He turned on his side to face her. “And my name is Nick. I want you to call me that, Fee. Let there be no titles between us. Not here. Never here.”

  “Nick,” she murmured and he pressed his lips to her forehead while also showing her what he liked, and how he wanted to be touched.

  Their lips found each other. They kissed deep and they kissed hard. His hand smoothed over her hip and down between her thighs…and then rising up so that he could caress and tease her as intimately as she did him.

  Pure, keen feeling shot through her.

  Fiona had not anticipated this. His clever fingers knew what drove her. She had to reach up and grasp his shoulders, overcome by what he was doing. He leaned her back on the bed, rising up over her, slipping his fingers inside her.

  This was nothing like her rape. The attack had been brutal and mean. It had been designed to punish her for her brother’s sins.

  But Nick was teaching her that intimacy was to be yearned for, craved even. She didn’t want this to ever stop.

  Her breath was coming out in soft gasps and silly moues of delight. It was as if she couldn’t keep her pleasure to herself. He kissed her neck, her cheek—and then he spread her legs, cradling his hips between them and opened her with one smooth thrust.

  He filled her, holding himself so her body
could adjust and accommodate his size. Fiona lifted her legs and wrapped them around him. He went deeper and she could have purred her contentment.

  “You feel good, Fee. So good,” he whispered in her ear.

  “You feel good, too,” she had to answer and he laughed. His laughter went through him even to where they were joined.

  Then, Nick leveraged his body against hers, taking his weight in his arms. He began moving with a sure steady pace.

  Fiona felt as if the secret of the universe was being handed to her. This was why men and women joined. This was what they wanted.

  And this made life suddenly worthwhile.

  She didn’t know what she was doing. She responded on instinct, allowing him to set the pace. He encouraged her with soothing, loving words. She reveled in the feeling of his body surrounding hers. She curled her fingers in his hair, surprised herself by nipping his ear, and rejoiced in at last having all barriers removed between them.

  Suddenly it all changed. One moment she moved in perfect harmony with him. In the next, it was as if she rode up a high, steep hill. She had to ride. She wanted to reach the pinnacle—and then she was there.

  The sensation was so sharp, so poignantly incredible, she felt as if her very soul was being shattered.

  Nick knew what was happening to her. He gathered her tighter in his arms, driving himself to the hilt inside her.

  She needed him. She could not exist through this without him. She held him tight, needing him for ballast in a world that seemed to have exploded.

  And once it did, a feeling of completeness, of peace in a guise she’d never imagined radiated throughout her being.

  So this was the purpose to making love. This was why ballads were sung, stories told, and poems written. She’d never felt so whole or close to another person in her life. It was truly as if they had melded into one.

  Nick watched her, concern in his eyes. “You needn’t worry,” she said, reaching to push back his hair that had fallen over his brow. “That was the most incredible, most wonderful discovery of my life.”

  A fierce joy crossed his face.

  “Is it always like that?” she dared to ask.

  “Yes,” he said. “And over time, it can grow even better.”

  Fiona widened her eyes at such a statement. Right now, she was so languid with bliss she didn’t believe she’d ever be able to move again. Certainly she didn’t want to leave this bed.

  “Stay with me,” he urged her. “I’m going to join you.”

  She smiled and hugged him with her legs as he drove deeper—and then he released his seed deep within her. She could feel the force of it. Hot, vital, alive. This was what was meant when a man and woman became one.

  At last, the world made sense.

  Her purpose in this life was to be with this man. Every step she’d taken, every incident, setback, twist of fate…had all been leading her here. No wonder she’d fallen into his arms when they met at the Swan. She had unknowingly been searching for him.

  He collapsed with a deep, satisfied sigh.

  Fiona smiled. She liked the weight of him upon her. She stroked his hair, enjoying its silky feel. “Mine,” she murmured.

  He lifted his head, propping it up with one hand to give her a lazy smile in return. “Yours,” he answered.

  “Thank you.”

  Nick shook his head. “No, thank you. That was special, Fee. It’s never been like that for me. Ever. You and I were meant for each other.”

  Her heart gave a leap. “As if it was destiny,” she said.

  “It was,” he eagerly agreed. “And this coupling…Fee, it has never been this way with anyone. There is magic between us. Power.”

  She laughed. A part of her thought he talked nonsense. Another part wanted to believe.

  He sensed her doubt. “I make no joke. You are mine. You were meant to be mine.” He reached for the bedcovers and threw them over their nakedness. Their legs were entwined; their bodies still fitted together. “I’m not letting go of you.”

  Fiona snuggled close, relishing his heat. She rubbed her nose against his chest. “Good, because I could spend the rest of my life right here.”

  “I wouldn’t complain,” he said.

  She lay content for a moment, but then her earlier concern intruded. “Have you forgiven the Spaniard?”

  He went still. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think you wanted to.”

  Nick carried her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. “Don’t worry about him,” he ordered quietly.

  She raised her head. “I think there is something I must tell you.”

  “What?” he asked, his voice cautious, and she knew she had to tell him.

  The story of her parents’ deaths—her father for defying the king’s soldiers, her mother of a broken heart—poured out of her. She told him about Gordon and losing touch with her brother.

  She told him of the day the soldiers took her away. She held nothing back.

  He listened, his expression changing from concern to outrage. An angry muscle tightened in his jaw. She placed her hand upon it. “Please, don’t be this way.”

  “What way, Fee? I’m furious over what they did to you.”

  “It was war, Nick. My brother was a rebel. They didn’t do it to me but to him.”

  He came up to sit with his back against the headboard. “How can you forgive them?”

  “Because you’ve taught me that it is more important to love,” she said. “I no longer care about what they did…but you must know because someday, my path will cross with one of them. Or someone will know my story.” She placed her palm against his chest. “I love you, Nick. I will always love you. But you must know, I’m not worthy of you.”

  “Fee, what happened was not your fault. Don’t you understand that? I would never blame you for what was done.”

  “I still bear the shame.”

  He turned her around to face him. “You have no shame. You are strong and resilient. You are a survivor, Fee, and you should be proud of that. As to wagging tongues, let me be your guardian. They’ll not say a word when you stand beside me.”

  She pressed her fingers over his lips. “Don’t speak that way. You are the most generous, noble man I have ever met. And I believe you are right. Destiny brought us together and I shall always be thankful of these moments. But I must protect you from yourself.”

  Nick took her hand, lacing her fingers with his own. “Do you trust me?”

  “With my life,” she assured him.

  “Then stop thinking, Fee. Live for right now and right here. The future will take care of itself.”

  She knew he said that because he didn’t understand how quickly life could change…but that was fine. She wanted to live in this moment. She never wanted dawn to come. Then, in the light of day, he’d realize she was right. He’d know he could do far better than herself.

  In fact, she would be doing him a service by making the decision for them and leaving on the morrow. To stay longer would lead to sharper heartbreak. She’d write to him, let him know where she was, and pray that there would be a place for her in his life, albeit a small unimportant one.

  Nick shook his head. “You are thinking too much again. How shall I persuade you to stop?” He took her by both arms. “Fee, together, we can face anything.”

  “I want to believe that—”

  “Then believe,” he said, cutting off her protest.

  He really thought it would be so simple. Fiona knew differently. She’d lived in London’s streets, waited on the ton. She’d heard them in unguarded moments—and then she realized, it didn’t matter.

  But right now, all she wanted to do was celebrate being in love.

  Fiona reached up and kissed him. Laughing, he fell back on the bed, bringing her with him in a tangle of arms and legs and kisses and hugs that grew more intent in purpose with each passing moment.

  This time, she knew what to expect.

  This time, mak
ing love to him was better than the last.

  Fiona’s first thought when she woke the next morning was, now, I am his mistress.

  She had crossed the line. Willingly.

  Her heart and her body belonged to Dominic Lynsted and she felt no remorse…or told herself she didn’t until she reached across the mattress for him and realized he wasn’t there.

  He’d left her already.

  Once again, she was alone. Panic threatened to choke her.

  She clutched her pillow, forcing herself to be calm, and focused on Nick’s promises. He’d asked her to trust him…and she would. She must. She’d already gone too far to turn back now.

  Her months as a seamstress had taught her a bit about the life of a mistress. Or at least the luxuries of being one. The wife was the one who had to make an accounting for every item of clothing and every household expense no matter how insignificant. The mistress bought what she wished. She answered to no one, sometimes not even to her patron.

  Like Grace, the women who became mistresses knew how to live by their wits and make the most of their charms. They also understood how to move on to another protector when the current man in their lives lost interest.

  Fiona frowned at the ceiling. She didn’t know if she could survive if Nick turned away from her—

  She immediately rejected the direction of her thoughts. She would survive. Loss had become a part of her life and she’d already survived much worse. Last night, she’d felt fully alive. She’d not allow her fears to rob her of this joy.

  There was a scratching at the door. Tad wanted to be let in.

  Fiona sat up and then froze, realizing that over the past night she’d exercised muscles she hadn’t even known existed. Pushing her tangle of hair back from her face, she ignored those sore muscles and found her night dress. She slipped into it before going over to the door to let Tad in.

  A cold draft across the floor made her bare toes curl in the carpet. The level of the light leaking into the room from behind the closed curtains made her realize the day was later than when she usually woke and she wondered what had happened to Sarah. Fiona was growing spoiled. She liked having the maid stoke the fire before she rose and the dozens of other things Sarah did for her.