A Secret Christmas

by Lauren Royal

  He settled against her, fitting there as if they were made to go together. An incredible urgency radiated from where his body was poised to enter hers. Her blood pumped faster.

  He broke the kiss and froze.

  “I cannot do this,” he gritted out in a fierce whisper. “I cannot do this before we’re wed.”

  “Oh, I believe you can,” she murmured with a secret smile he couldn’t see. And deliberately she raised her hips, welcoming him into her and at the same time bracing for the pain.

  It wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated, but she might have cried out if Joseph hadn’t covered her mouth with his. Holding her face, he stayed still and whispered senseless endearments, raining little kisses all over her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  But the pain was fading already, rapidly becoming an ache of another kind…an ache so exquisite she found herself straining against him in hope of easing it.

  He kissed her mouth, and then he moved in her.

  A gasp of wonder escaped her lips.

  “Now,” he whispered.

  She couldn’t seem to form as much as a single word.

  He moved in her again, and then they moved as one in a dance as old as time, a dance far more intimate than the scandalous volta. Slowly and then faster, the feelings building to a crescendo, higher and higher until Chrystabel couldn’t quite hold back a scream.

  Joseph placed a hand over her mouth as she erupted in pleasure so intense she was half convinced she was flying. Up and up, flying higher yet when she felt him go with her. Her own hands went everywhere, trying to feel him all at once as her breath came in long, shuddering sighs, matched by his.

  It seemed a long time later when she drifted back down to earth. Joseph was still pressed close, his heart beating in a cadence to match hers. For the next few minutes, she just lay beside him, content to listen to the two of them breathing while she savored the new and wonderful sensation of his warm body against hers.

  “It was bliss,” she whispered when she finally felt able to form words.

  “It was.” He kissed her cheek, her nose, her forehead.

  “It was beautiful.”

  “It was.” He kissed her mouth.

  Her lips clung to his for a long, satisfying moment. “I’m so glad I talked you into doing this now.”

  “So am I.” She heard a smile in his voice. “Now you’ll come to me on our wedding night with only joy.”

  “Oh, yes, it was joyful.” She felt deliciously worn out. “And our wedding is three weeks away. More than three weeks away. By the time of our wedding night, I reckon we’ll have had plenty of practice, so that everything will be very, very joyful.”

  “What?” She felt him pull away a little. She couldn’t see him, but she sensed he was looking at her with a bit of consternation. Or trying to look at her, anyway. “We’ll be in my parents’ home all of those three weeks. At least”—she heard his breath catch—“I assume we’ll both be in my parents’ home. You’re not still planning to go to Wales, are you?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a soft laugh.

  She’d never expected to laugh in bed with a man, but it felt right.

  Everything with Joseph felt right.

  “I never wanted to go to Wales at all,” she added, shifting closer. “But we’ll be in your parents’ home after those three weeks as well, won’t we? This is Tremayne, and you’re the Viscount Tremayne.”

  I’m going to be the Viscountess Tremayne, she thought, feeling a little thrill run through her. I’m going to be Lady Tremayne.

  “Yes, we’ll be here at Tremayne afterwards too. But we’ll be married then. We cannot ‘practice’ in my parents’ home before we’re wed. Surely you understand that.”

  “Surely I don’t.” He was absolutely darling. “We’re in your parents’ home now, aren’t we?”

  “They cannot find us here!” he exclaimed too loudly. “We’re in a priest hole!”

  “Hush!” she admonished in a whisper. “You need to keep quiet, my love. You don’t want to be caught down here, do you?”

  She thought she heard him choking, but then she realized she was hearing suppressed laughter. “That’s the second time within an hour that you’ve parroted my words,” he said once he got himself under control. “Shall I assume you’ll be doing this all of my life?”

  “All of our lives. And I’m afraid so.” It actually wasn’t much a habit of hers, but she’d look for opportunities since it amused him. “I hope you’ll still want to marry me anyway.”

  “Of course I still want to marry you. But I don’t want to do this again until we’re married.” She heard a little pout in his voice. “Not in my parents’ home.”

  “Really? Really, Joseph?” She pressed closer, feeling evidence that he was lying. “I think you do want to do this again. But you just go on thinking that.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he accused. “I can tell from your tone that you’re thinking you’ll seduce me again. Well, I have more control than you think. It won’t work. You won’t be able to seduce me until you have a wedding ring on your finger.”

  “You think not?” she said, wishing she could send him her best challenging look.

  But it was pitch-black.

  So she just whispered, “Watch me.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  CHRYSTABEL AND JOSEPH had lain wrapped in each other’s arms for a long while, sometimes kissing and sometimes just breathing. Then they’d risen and dressed, laughing softly as they felt around for their clothes on the floor. After that, exhausted, they had crawled back on the bed to rest, chatting in whispers while they waited for Arabel to return and tell them it was safe to come out. At some point they had fallen asleep.

  Chrystabel woke when she heard a scraping sound overhead.

  The wardrobe’s false bottom was being removed. For a moment, she panicked—her heart began beating double-time. But then she blinked herself more wakeful and chided herself, because surely it was just Arabel, coming to free them at last.

  When the bottom was lifted, dim light filtered in first.

  “Arabel?” she called softly.

  Bright light flooded the chamber as a torch was thrust into the opening above. “I knew it!” Sir Leonard crowed as he descended, sounding disgustingly pleased with himself.

  Chrystabel and Joseph bolted upright simultaneously.

  She heard the third step snap, a loud crack like a cricket bat slamming a ball in the Grange’s village square. But Sir Leonard didn’t falter. He came closer, waving the torch before him in victory.

  “I knew I’d find you hiding with this foul lot. Mark my words, girl, your great friend Trentingham will finally get what’s coming to him. And as for you, Creath—you will marry me today, or—”

  “Who is Beth?” Chrystabel squeaked.

  “Who is…? Who the devil are you?” he roared as he reached the bottom.

  Apparently Joseph hadn’t completely reattached Chrystabel’s stomacher in the dark. Working the remaining tabs as surreptitiously as possible, she shakily rose. “I’m Lady Chrystabel Trevor,” she said with all the dignity she could muster—which was quite a bit. “Don’t you remember me from when you came by on Tuesday evening? I’m a guest of the Ashcrofts. I don’t know who this Beth is you’re speaking of, but I can assure you she’s not here.”

  “Not Beth, you halfwit—Creath! It rhymes with breath!” He crisscrossed the room frantically, poking the torch into every corner in a fruitless search for his betrothed.

  “Creath isn’t here, Sir Leonard,” Joseph growled, knotting his cravat from his seat on the bed. “It’s the second time you’ve made this mistake. If you leave now, perhaps we’ll pretend it was an honest one.”

  “Do you take me for an idiot, boy? If you’re not harboring my bride, why the hell are you hiding in a priest hole?” he bellowed furiously, pulling a pistol from his wide boot top and brandishing it at Chrystabel.

  Her heart jumped into
her throat. She shrank back, falling onto the bed at the same time Joseph leapt up and shoved Sir Leonard hard in the chest with the heels of both of his hands.

  Sir Leonard stumbled back.

  “Leave her alone!” Joseph hollered. “You don’t point guns at ladies! And we’re down here because we have Christmas decorations, you witless worm! That’s right—you caught us celebrating Christmas,” he sneered. “What are you going to do about it? Are you going to turn us in, Sir Justice of the Peace? Or are you going to shoot us? Is this what your life has come to, harassing neighbors for celebrating holidays?”

  “Damn right I’m going to turn you in! Right after I find Creath!” Following one last look around that failed to reveal her, Sir Leonard turned on a heel and stormed back up the steep staircase, his torch in one hand and the pistol still in the other.

  Joseph rushed up the stairs after him. “Wait! The third step!”

  Sir Leonard half-turned, but it was too late.

  One leg crashed through the ruined step. Terror flashed in his eyes. His pistol went off. As the bullet hit the wall behind her, Chrystabel screamed and saw the rest of him plunge through the staircase.

  With a great thump, he landed on his back, followed by a hideous crack as his head hit the rock-hard ground. He lay there half behind the staircase, his neck at an odd angle, his arms spread out to the sides. The torch guttered against the stone floor, plunging the room back into darkness except for a sliver of dim light that filtered in from the opening above.

  It took a few seconds for Chrystabel to find her voice.

  “Oh, my God, Joseph! Oh, my God! I think he’s dead!”

  “What? Did you say something?” Still halfway up the stairs, Joseph shook his head. “I can’t hear you. Did you say something?”

  “I yelled something!” She was yelling now as she rushed toward him. “I said Sir Leonard is dead! What’s wrong with you?”

  “My ears are ringing. They hurt.” He shook his head again, then clapped his hands over his ears with a grimace. “They feel all clogged up.”

  She gasped when his fingers came away coated in blood. “Joseph!”

  “The gun went off right by my head, Chrysanthemum, and now I cannot hear you!”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  A month later

  THE CHURCH OF St. Mary the Virgin was immediately adjacent to Tremayne Castle. A high, covered timber bridge linked the two buildings. The duke who built Tremayne had used the bridge to directly reach a church balcony that overlooked the sanctuary, so he could come and go and attend services without deigning to speak to any parishioners.

  The duke didn’t sound like a nice man. Chrystabel thought maybe he’d deserved his beheading.

  In any case, the bridge was long in disrepair, so the Ashcrofts and Trevors had walked out to the road and over to the church for the wedding on this fine, if cold, day. Since big church weddings were frowned upon by the Commonwealth government, there were only the seven of them attending and no parishioners to talk to, anyway.

  As they weren’t really out in public, Chrystabel had decided to wear her new strand of pearls for her church wedding, together with a pre-Cromwell gown: a pale blue confection with silver scrollwork and seed pearls on the stomacher and underskirt. Joseph had gaped appreciatively when he saw she’d changed into it after this morning’s civil ceremony. Although they had already been declared man and wife by a Justice of the Peace, she didn’t feel married yet. She thought she might not feel married until after the wedding breakfast. She’d been planning the menu for weeks.

  But this church service was taking so long that she feared half of the delicious meal might spoil before their families got to enjoy it.

  The tall, majestic church had been built in stages over the last several centuries. It had a Norman doorway, a Gothic chancel, a Tudor bell tower, a soaring dark wood hammerbeam ceiling, and many beautiful, colorful stained glass windows. Standing before the intricately carved altar while the vicar read the interminable service, Chrystabel felt dwarfed in the enormous old building. But she couldn’t help smiling at the thought that she was getting married in the Church of St. Mary the Virgin when she wasn’t a virgin.

  She was very much not a virgin now.

  Down in the priest hole, when she’d told Joseph that his mother might be all right with them making love before marriage, she hadn’t really believed that. She’d just been trying to talk him into bedding her. But now she had to wonder, because either Lady Trentingham did question convention to that extent, or else the woman was completely oblivious.

  Chrystabel had only had to seduce Joseph once.

  After that, he’d taken over the seducing.

  In the weeks since their betrothal, Joseph had made love to Chrystabel in his conservatory. He’d made love to Chrystabel in his bedchamber. He’d made love to her in her bedchamber, in the great room, in the library, and once in the kitchen when they’d sneaked down in the wee hours for a midnight snack.

  That had ended up being a different kind of snack than the one Chrystabel had originally had in mind. A much better one.

  It seemed they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He was constantly surprising her, teaching her new and different ways to enjoy each other. Though at first she’d found herself wondering where he might have learned all the different ways, she was far too busy feeling blissful to bother herself about that—so she’d decided he was just an inventive lover. When she envisioned their future, full of exciting days and even more exciting nights, she felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

  And she had a secret: She’d missed her monthly two weeks ago. She’d been waiting for their wedding night to tell Joseph, as a wedding present. She hoped he’d be as happy as she was—she couldn’t wait to hold their babe in her arms. And she knew she’d be a much better mother than her own mother. She felt it with a certainty that filled her with peace and gratitude. On the brink of motherhood herself, she knew she’d finally forgiven Mother in her heart.

  After all, she’d learned how not to be a mother from her, and that was a priceless lesson.

  Besides, she had a new mother now, a kind and nurturing one. This morning, when Lady Trentingham had requested she call her ‘Mother’ from now on, Chrystabel had felt a warm glow from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

  After droning on for another twenty minutes, the vicar turned a page in his prayerbook and cleared his throat.

  At last, Chrystabel thought. Her heart soaring, she squeezed Joseph’s hand as the vicar began chanting their vows.

  “Joseph Ashcroft, The Right Honorable Viscount Tremayne, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?” He was a very soft-spoken man, which she found a bit worrisome. “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  An expectant silence filled the church.

  “Say that last part louder,” Chrystabel whispered.

  “So long as ye both shall live?” the vicar repeated.

  “Louder.”

  “So long as ye both shall live?” he fairly yelled.

  “I will,” Joseph said, his confident words finally booming through the magnificent arched sanctuary.

  Along with everyone else, Chrystabel breathed a sigh of relief.

  She’d recovered quickly from the shock and horror of seeing a man die—Sir Leonard had been a bad man, after all. But Joseph still hadn’t fully recovered his hearing. Chrystabel thought his ears would eventually heal, but over the last weeks she had assured him—very loudly and very often—that she would be just as thrilled to wed him hearing or deaf.

  The soft-spoken vicar cleared his throat again and looked back down at his Book of Common Prayer. “Lady Chrystabel Trevor, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband…”

  Off to one side, Chrystabel’s brother and his new wife held hands, whispering th
eir own vows surreptitiously. They hadn’t been able to have a church wedding, so it warmed her heart to see them pretending to have one today.

  After their civil ceremony, they’d returned from Bristol toward the end of Christmas Day and been thunderstruck to find Sir Leonard dead.

  “Do you want our marriage annulled?” Matthew had asked Creath solicitously. “It hasn’t been consummated yet, and now your odious cousin cannot come after you…”

  Creath had burst into tears. Racking, heart-rending, inconsolable tears.

  “You’re an idiot!” Chrystabel had railed at her brother.

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Arabel had put in politely.

  At Creath’s demand, their marriage had been consummated within the hour. Now they were living in her father’s mansion while they built a new house on her land. Given that it had taken nearly a year for the authorities to find and verify Sir Leonard as her father’s heir, they figured they had at least that much time before the next baronet came to claim Moore Manor.

  Creath’s son wouldn’t inherit her father’s title, but eventually he’d inherit Matthew’s title instead. He’d be an earl instead of a baronet. She was fine with that.

  Matthew made no secret of the fact that he was glad he hadn’t needed to move to Wales with his sisters. He also no longer had financial troubles, since his income from Grosmont in Wales plus Creath’s income from her own lands here had them well on their way to rebuilding the Trevor family fortune.

  But that was not why he had married Creath, of course. Anyone could see that he loved her.

  If she had agreed to the annulment, he would have been devastated.

  Arabel and Creath had become great friends, a convenient turn of events since they were now sharing a home. Arabel would naturally continue living under her brother’s roof until she found a husband. Or rather, until her matchmaking sister found a husband for her. At seventeen, Arabel was still in no hurry to wed, although, thanks to Chrystabel’s bliss and reassurance, she’d become a great deal less resistant to the idea. And in the meantime, she was happy she wasn’t in Wales and that she had her sister close by. As ever, Arabel was easy to please.