Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

“To be frank, so did I,” he said roughly, rubbing the long scar.

  “We should have been more careful.” She brushed his hand aside to check if the wound had opened. She sighed with relief when she saw no blood. “We could have done serious damage.”

  “Wanting you and not having you was more painful than anything the Frenchies could do to me.”

  Her unthinking dash from the bed proved that she had aches and pains of her own. She’d adored the headlong urgency of Edmund’s passion. Now a few twinges reminded her that she was unaccustomed to having her body stretched and pounded.

  When she studied Edmund, she didn’t mind. He looked tired, but happy. And younger than the man who had ridden in yesterday afternoon. Her hand tightened on his thigh above his wound. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “Leave you?” He frowned in puzzlement. “What rubbish is this? I’ve only just come home.”

  When she shook her head, her unbound hair slid against her newly sensitive skin. “Now.” The word was a thread of sound. “Don’t leave me now. I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t bear to be apart from you tonight.”

  Comprehension lit his eyes, and he stroked her hair, stretching his long legs out on either side of her. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

  “Good.” Giddy with relief, she kissed his thigh, just below his stirring rod. A wicked thrill sizzled through her, gave her the nerve to place a kiss on the part of him that had offered her such superlative service. Her senses opened to a deep musky scent and the salty taste of his skin.

  “Hell’s bells,” he gasped and plunged his hands into her untidy mass of hair, tipping her face up. “Where on earth did you learn to do that?”

  Felicity flushed and regarded him uncertainly. “Didn’t you like it?”

  A strangled laugh escaped him. “I liked it beyond measure.”

  “It seemed a natural thing to do.”

  He bent down and this time, his kiss was urgent. “You, my wife, are a gift beyond price.”

  “When you kiss me like that, I can’t think.” Flustered, she pulled back and rose to her feet. With every movement, she felt the slickness between her thighs.

  Edmund relaxed against the pillows and watched her with drowsy pleasure. “Come back to bed.”

  She sent him a quick smile. “Not yet.”

  When Felicity picked up her nightdress and hauled it over her head, he groaned and rolled his eyes. “You tease me.”

  She wandered into the dressing room. “Only a little.”

  “Flick, you’d better plan to come back here,” he called with gratifying impatience.

  As she opened the door to the huge rosewood armoire in the corner, she smiled. How very nice it was to have a gorgeous man eager for one’s company. “In a moment.”

  She returned, burdened with a large mahogany box. His face alight with curiosity, Edmund pushed up against the bedhead. “What the devil is this?”

  Feeling very pleased with herself, she braced to extend the heavy box in his direction. “Happy Christmas, my dear husband.”

  He took it with a delighted smile. “I’d forgotten.”

  “So had I, even though I’ve just been to church.”

  He grinned and caught her hand for a quick kiss. “How clever of you to have a gift for me.”

  Felicity perched on the end of the bed, and folded her legs up under her nightgown. “It was luck as much as anything. I had no idea where you were this year. And I wasn’t ready to entrust all my hard work to the War Ministry with the hope that they could find you. I thought you might write for Christmas, and I’d know your location then.”

  He lifted the lid of the box, to reveal neatly wrapped packages resting on a bed of white linen. “New shirts,” he said with transparent pleasure. “Bless you. I always had the softest shirts in the regiment.”

  She’d washed and bleached and sewn each shirt with just that object. The way she had for the last seven years. “I hated to think of you over there with scratchy linen.”

  “All made by you?”

  “Yes.” Every stitch a silent declaration of love.

  “Thank you.” When he lifted one of the smaller packages, a piece of greenery fell from the wrapping. “Mistletoe?”

  “For Christmas.” This year, she’d placed a few mistletoe sprigs in with his present and made a wish for his safe return as she did it.

  He smiled. “For kisses.”

  “For luck.” Feeling very daring, she picked up a sprig and held it over his head as she stretched up to kiss him. Only when he drew her closer and the corner of the box bumped her hip did she recall what they’d been doing before pleasure distracted them.

  “Edmund…” she protested, as his hand slipped under the top of the nightdress.

  “Mmm?”

  Heat rippled through her when he squeezed her breast. “Your present?”

  “Mmm,” he said, nibbling his way down her neck and making every hair on her skin stand up.

  “Present…” She sounded less convincing by the second and was almost sorry when he pulled away.

  “Stop tempting me.” He kissed her with unmistakable purpose, then returned to his gifts. He unscrewed a silver container. “Bonbons.”

  “In one of your letters, you said you like peppermint.”

  “I do.” He offered her a sweet, before taking one for himself. “Fancy you remembering that.”

  Felicity remembered every word he’d ever said or written to her. His delight in the sweet made her smile, even as a burst of fresh mint flooded her mouth. The taste, however delicious, couldn’t compete with Edmund’s kisses.

  “Did you make these, too?”

  She nodded. “I made everything I could.”

  “I’ve married quite the housewife,” he said. “Did you always make everything? You never said.”

  She blushed. Again. “I know it’s not very countessish, but I wanted you to receive a Christmas present that came directly from me.”

  His eyes warmed, and he leaned in to give her a kiss sharp with peppermint. “Thank you. That’s what it felt like. Now what else is in here?”

  She sat back and enjoyed his childlike glee as he opened his gifts. The fruitcake. The Christmas pudding. More bonbons. A parcel of recent novels. Pens and writing paper, included purely out of self-interest. Several cakes of the soap she knew he liked. Tonight when she’d lain in his arms, the sandalwood scent had been hauntingly familiar. Handkerchiefs she’d sat up late finishing only last week, when she’d decided to hold onto the box until she had a confirmed address.

  He sat back, surrounded by bounty. “You put me to shame.”

  She smiled, elated with the success of her gifts. She’d never suspected this boyish side of his nature existed. What a night of revelations this had been. “I know these last years, you haven’t been in a position to buy me presents.” She dared to tease him. “Although next Christmas, I’ll expect you to start making up for it.”

  Amusement brightened his eyes to silver. “So you don’t want this year’s present?”

  Surprised, she stared at him. “This year’s present?”

  Edmund laughed with a light-heartedness she hadn’t heard since his return and shifted his gifts aside so he could stand up. Hardly limping at all, he crossed to his valise and was quick to locate what he sought.

  As he approached, he held his hands behind his back. “Close your eyes.”

  She did.

  “No peeking. Put out your hands.”

  She obeyed.

  “Closer together. Do you think I bought you an elephant?”

  “Edmund,” she protested, but she moved her hands together.

  He’d given her a horse as a wedding gift. A fine chestnut mare she rode every day. Avid curiosity gripped her. “What is it? A shawl from Spain? Some lace from the Low Countries?”

  “Was that what you wanted? If only I’d known.”

  Keeping her eyes shut, she reached forward into empty air. “You’re a beast.” />
  “Undoubtedly.” His voice lowered, until it reverberated in her bones. “Happy Christmas, my lovely wife. This is the best Christmas I’ve ever known, and I hope it’s the first of many glorious Christmases to come.”

  Something in his tone made her open her eyes, despite his strictures not to look. For a lost moment, she stared into features so vivid with feeling that she wondered if she’d misjudged him all these years. Perhaps he did love her.

  “Edmund…” she whispered in a completely different tone. Then he placed a flat red velvet case in her hands, and that aching, intimate connection snapped.

  His expression was smug. “It’s not a shawl.”

  The case’s weight surprised her. “So I gather,” she said unsteadily. She’d seen enough of the Countess of Canforth’s jewels to guess what was inside.

  “Open it.” Watching with unwavering attention, he settled against the pillows again. The expectation in his eyes made her smile, even as she regretted the loss of that instant of silent communion. Her hands shook so much that she couldn’t manage the box’s clasp.

  “Here.” Edmund took it from her. With a couple of flicks of his long fingers, he unfastened the lid and lifted it.

  Awed, Felicity surveyed the sparkling contents, before she glanced up at her husband. “Goodness gracious.”

  He looked pleased. “Goodness gracious indeed. I bought them in Vienna a couple of months ago, and I’ve been carrying them around ever since. I always had a yen to see my beautiful wife in rubies and diamonds.”

  “But what rubies.” As she lifted the magnificent necklace from its bed of purple silk, her hands still trembled. Edmund had given her a complete parure. Tiara. Two bracelets. Brooch. Earrings. When she held the necklace up to the candlelight, the stones sparkled as if they were alive.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, and she caught a flash of uncertainty in his expression. Another of tonight’s miracles. She knew him well enough now to recognize his diffidence for what it was.

  “How could I not? They’re spectacular. I should say that you’ve been dreadfully extravagant, but I love them too much to object. Instead, I feel completely overwhelmed. And very grateful.”

  His laugh held a note of relief. “I’m so glad.”

  Yesterday she would have thanked him with words and a smile, knowing her response was inadequate to the lavish gift. But tonight, she’d put away her inhibitions. She dropped the necklace and launched herself forward, kissing him with unabashed enthusiasm. “Thank you so much. It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.”

  Laughing with no hint of constraint, he tumbled her over and returned her kisses. By the time he raised his head, she stared dreamily up at him.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love them.” I love you.

  Warm even through the flannel, his hand curved over her breast. “My pleasure.”

  Felicity fiddled with a curling lock of hair over his ear. “Will you help me put them on?”

  Amusement flashed in his eyes. “My darling, you’re not dressed for the occasion. Don’t you know what a faux pas it is, to wear rubies with flannel?”

  His darling? “It is?”

  “Better to wear rubies naked, than with a nightgown.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks heated, but she didn’t look away from the brazen invitation in his expression. “In that case, you’d better show me how it’s done, my lord.”

  His smile took on a distinctly wolfish tinge. “It’s the least I can do, my lady.”

  MISTLETOE AND THE MAJOR

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Late Christmas morning—very late, Felicity blushed to admit—she returned to Edmund’s bedroom to unpack the valise he’d brought home yesterday. Her husband was downstairs in his library. Because it was Christmas Day, he had no plans to work, but she knew he wanted to start settling back into civilian life after all his years in the army.

  She was ridiculously dreamy, and her body felt as though it had been through a war of its own. She wouldn’t have it any other way. Because beneath the weariness and muscles complaining of strenuous use, she glowed with female satisfaction. Twice more in this bed, Edmund had turned to her. Once, after draping her naked body in a maharajah’s ransom in rubies, to launch a leisurely seduction that had stretched into fiery hours of pleasure. Then, when the day was well started, they’d come together with a joy that made her feel like she basked in sunlight, despite the snow falling outside. Never again would she question whether her husband wanted her, or that she was incapable of equaling him in sensual pleasure.

  She hummed “The Sussex Carol” as she placed the bag on the bed and set to sorting out his clothing, putting aside what needed laundering. There was something wonderfully intimate about performing this housewifely task for the man she loved.

  The man she hoped might come to love her.

  At times last night, she’d wondered if she’d already won that battle. He’d kissed her with such overmastering need and touched her with such aching tenderness, surely he must already care for her.

  And he’d remained faithful when his need for some human warmth must have been agonizing. Knowing that he’d stayed true made her heart swell with love. This morning, although no vows had been spoken, she felt cherished. For their first full day together in so many years, that was enough.

  While she thought about her handsome husband and the marvelous things he made her feel, her busy hands kept sorting and folding. Until under the clothing, she discovered bundles of papers packed at the base of the bag.

  Frowning, she drew out a ragged packet, tied with tatty string. She didn’t recognize the letters straightaway as hers, because they were torn and charred and black with soot. It looked like someone had deliberately set out to destroy them.

  With shaking hands, she pulled out the rest and scattered them over the bed. Most were burned. A quick check proved that some of the letters came from years ago, perhaps from their first months apart.

  What on earth could this mean? Had her husband kept the letters because he treasured them? Had they been damaged in some act of war? Surely Edmund had never been angry enough with her to burn her letters. That wasn’t the man she knew.

  Once, she might have hidden her rising confusion. But she’d trusted her husband with so much since he’d arrived home. She’d learned things about their life that she’d never known before. Whatever the result, good or bad, she had to find out the truth behind this mystery.

  She grabbed a bundle in shaking hands, leaving the rest behind, and ran out of the room and downstairs. When she reached the landing above the great hall, Edmund was crossing the floor below, Digby at his heels. Today her husband’s limp was almost unnoticeable.

  “Edmund,” she called, her voice uncharacteristically high.

  “Yes?” He stopped under the extravagant kissing bough and glanced up. His swift smile faltered, and his eyes narrowed on her face. “What is it?”

  “I found these.” On shaking legs, she descended the last flight of stairs and held out the tattered packet with an unsteady hand. “I was unpacking your bag.”

  “Bugger it. I meant to put them away.” To her shock, he turned as red as a tomato when he took the letters. Embarrassment? Or guilt? “My fault, really. A soldier knows to have everything stowed when he makes camp.”

  She curled her hand around the carved griffin on the newel post. “You’re not a soldier anymore.”

  “Yes, I am. I’ll always be a soldier.” He subjected her to a searching regard. “Now I suppose you’ve guessed my deep, dark secret.”

  Yesterday, she’d have let that enigmatic remark go unchallenged. Not now. She’d been reticent once and paid for it with endless longing. However unpalatable the truth she uncovered, she’d never let reticence poison her life again. The turmoil inside her roughened her voice as she stepped toward him. “Who burned my letters?”

  “Good God, Flick.” Looking aghast, he reached for her arm, but she wrenched out of the way. “What in Hades are yo
u thinking? Whatever it is, it’s utterly muddle-headed.”

  “Was it you?”

  “Of course I didn’t bloody burn them.” He slid the packet of letters inside his coat, as if protecting them from her rage. “If I did, why the hell would I carry them around as my most precious possession? Stop this.”

  His most precious possession? If that was true, how did her letters end up in such a sorry state? She sucked in a shaky breath. “Please…just tell me what happened. I won’t be angry.”

  He lunged forward and grabbed her hard by the shoulders. Obstinacy hardened his jaw in a way that alarmed her. “God, give me strength.”

  A reckless glitter lighting his eyes, he tugged her forward and kissed her hard and thoroughly under the kissing bough. She took too many betraying seconds to muster any resistance. He wasn’t hurting her, but his lips were fierce, and his touch was adamant.

  Confused, unsure, she struggled to pull away. “Let me go,” she muttered under his lips.

  “Never,” he said, lashing his arms around her in a bear hug.

  She kept her lips closed and curled her hands into fists that she pounded on his shoulders. When that produced no reaction, she pulled his hair. Hard. But it was like fighting a mountain. For the first time, Edmund used his size and strength against her.

  It was impossible to cling to her temper when his warmth enveloped her, and his evocative scent filled her senses, and he kissed her as if he’d rather die than stop.

  Gradually his touch eased, until he cradled her in his arms, and he no longer demanded she kissed him back, come hell or high water. Instead his lips wooed, beseeched, seduced. Curse him. Mere hours from his bed, she was ripe for more seduction.

  With a helpless moan of acquiescence, she curved into him and kissed him with all the unspoken, irresistible love in her heart. Her grip on his hair softened into caresses. When after a long time, he raised his head to stare down at her with dazed gray eyes, she came close to forgetting what brought her here in a raging storm of emotion.

  “Damn it, Flick, are you ready to listen to me now?” He was panting, and he couched the question in a low growl.