Twelve Kisses to Midnight: A Novella (The Oxenburg Princes)

by Karen Hawkins

  Never breaking the kiss, Marcus tugged the neckline of her gown aside, slipping a hand inside her chemise to cup her breast. He kneaded it, and as he ran his thumb over her peaked nipple, she gasped against his mouth. He gently nipped her lip, rocking against her, his hard cock pressed to her hip.

  Her skirts rustled as he lifted them with his other hand, sliding his seeking fingers up her leg, to her thigh, to her very core. There he stroked her tight curls, increasing the rhythm, urging her on with every stroke, every movement.

  Kenna’s nerves pulled tight, her expectation stretching. Heat flushed her skin as her passion swelled, a fire rising in her veins, pooling in her belly and lower as she rocked up to meet his stroking fingers, moaning his name against his kisses.

  Passion threatened to overwhelm her and, throwing her leg over him, she rose onto her knees and straddled him, reaching for the buttons on his breeches. Before Marcus realized what she’d intended, his breeches were opened and she was atop him, sliding down on his turgid member with her velvet-hot grip.

  He gasped, grasping her hips and guiding her further down. But she grabbed his wrists and, with a twist, pinned them over his head.

  Shocked and excited beyond belief, he met her gaze as she slowly, ever so slowly, raised herself on his shaft, and then just as slowly lowered herself. Each stroke was madness, driving him to the edge of reason, his body aching with growing need as she enclosed him over and over in slick, tight heat. His desperate breath mingled with her furious panting. When she lowered herself the next time, he leaned up to catch her nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over it as she slid down his cock.

  When he closed his teeth lightly on her nipple, she let out a moan and arched, her eyes closed in glorious pleasure, her sheath closing tightly over him. He tore his wrists from her grasp and encircled her waist, holding her in place as he thrust up into her. Over and over, he took her, owned her, gave himself to her.

  Just as he thought he could withhold himself no longer, she cried his name and bucked wildly, her heat igniting his own—and, holding her tight, he fell over the edge of passion and into her open arms.

  Afterward, they lay entwined as thought and feeling slowly returned. Kenna’s head rested on Marcus’s shoulder, fitting as snugly as if it had been made for her alone. Knowing that was a delicious illusion, she sighed and rubbed her cheek against him.

  She smiled as he threaded his fingers through her hair, untangling her curls. There was so much in her heart, so much to be said, she couldn’t decide where to begin.

  She spread her hand over his chest, her finger sliding through his crisp hair. His shirt had gotten torn in the their furor, and she wondered if her borrowed gown was the same. Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she was finally back in Marcus’s arms. She didn’t know for how long, but right now she didn’t care.

  She sighed, her breath stirring the torn edge of his shirt. “I don’t want to move.”

  He tightened his hold on her, his large hands warm and firm. “Neither do I.” His breath stirred her hair.

  She smiled against his chest. The crackle of the fire filled the quiet room, broken only by the tick-tick drip of melting icicles on the windowsill, and the distant sound of a horse’s neigh . . .

  She blinked and then sat up, her startled glance going to the window. A group of horsemen rode toward the house across the snow, and in the front, looking stern and implacable was her father.

  Chapter Nine

  Marcus swiftly lifted her to her feet. “Straighten your clothes and see to your hair.” He tucked in his shirt and grabbed his coat and neckcloth from the back of the chair.

  Kenna hurried to the mirror, tugging her gown down and tying the ties. She combed her fingers through the worst tangles in her hair, then wove the strands into a hasty braid. She didn’t have enough time to do more before a demanding knock sounded on the door.

  “That’s Father.” Her voice quavered, and she bit the inside of her lip to hold her calm.

  “I’ll let him in.” Marcus paused to tilt her face to his, a serious look in his gray eyes. “Dinna look so worried, lass. He canna bite you. Nae while I’m here.” He bent and kissed the corner of her mouth, and then went into the foyer.

  Kenna pressed her fingers to that tiny kiss, aware of the rising tide of butterflies in her stomach.

  Male voices could be heard, some strident, some calm, and then the door flew open and Father strode in, followed closely by Marcus, Stormont, and the prince.

  “Kenna!” Father’s voice dripped with disappointment. A short man with grizzled hair and a military bearing, he was dressed with the utmost propriety, his riding boots agleam, his coat of dull buff, his waistcoat a solid, deep blue. He looked Kenna up and down. “Your hair and that gown— Bloody hell, what’s the reason for this?”

  Marcus made a move as if to come between her and Father, but the prince shook his head.

  Grateful for that little interference, she smiled tightly. “I can explain everything.”

  “You damn well better!” He turned his glare from her to Marcus. “And you, you jackanapes. I’ve half a mind to call you out!”

  She saw Marcus stiffen and she hurried to Father’s side. “Father, no. Lord Rothesay did nothing wrong. We were—”

  Outside, there was the noise of horses and the jangling of traces.

  Marcus frowned. “Is that a carriage?”

  The prince sighed. “Tata Natasha had to come. She said it was too cold to ride a horse, so, the carriage.”

  “I saw no road wide enough for a carriage,” Marcus said.

  Stormont, who’d hung back, took the opportunity to step a bit closer to Kenna. “A small road splits from the main drive of my house. I daresay you couldn’t see it for the snow.” He took Kenna’s hand between his and patted it awkwardly. “I trust you are not injured, my dear. We have been so worried about you.”

  “Look at her!” Father snapped. “She is a disgrace, and I know who to blame!”

  Kenna’s throat tightened but she kept her head high, the pressure of Marcus’s kiss still on the corner of her mouth as she tugged her hand free from Stormont’s grasp. “There is no one to blame here.”

  “Ha!” Father replied, his face a dull red, his mouth thinned.

  Stormont pasted on a fake smile. “Now, now, Lord Galloway. Your daughter has been trapped in this cottage without a maid or else for two days. Naturally, her clothes and hair are not as neat as usual.” He turned a smile her way, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think she looks lovely.”

  She’d so hoped Stormont would take her impending scandal as a reason to break off his courtship, but he was clearly too desperate for funds.

  She managed a smile. “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.” And a liar, as well.

  Father opened his mouth to reply when the door was opened by a liveried footman, and the grand duchess entered. Dressed in a heavy fur-lined cape, her black eyes bright with curiosity, she made her way into the room, the thick rug muffling the thump of her cane. The footman closed the door, leaving them alone. “So!” she said, her black gaze bright and direct. “We have found them, have we?”

  “No thanks to you,” the prince answered.

  Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The prince fixed a hard gaze on his grandmother. “Well, Tata Natasha? Will you tell them, or will I?”

  The duchess sniffed. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

  The prince turned to Marcus. “The morning you disappeared, my grandmother saw your riderless horses gallop up the front drive. She paid one of the footmen to catch them and told him that they’d been spooked, but not to worry, that you had both returned unharmed.”

  Stormont looked earnestly at Kenna. “Thus we were led to believe you were home safely. It wasn’t until supper that it became clear neither of you were there. By then, the weather was too bad to risk a rescue.”

  “Ah.” Marcus crossed his arms over his chest an
d leaned against the fireplace. “So that’s what happened.”

  Stormont kept his gaze on Kenna. “We were desperate with worry once we knew you were both stranded.”

  “Hm. I must say, we’ve found these accommodations quite interesting.” Marcus’s voice warmed with amusement as he idly reached over to straighten one of the pictures still on the wall. “Stormont, I must ask the name of your decorator for this . . . what is this, anyway? A guest house? A love ne—”

  “No!” The viscount sent a quick look at Kenna’s father before forcing a smile. “It’s nothing, really. A cottage for friends who do not like to stay in the main house.”

  “I don’t give a damn what this house is for,” Galloway snapped. “I will not have my daughter stay a moment longer.”

  “But it is not so ill furnished.” The duchess looked around, curiosity plain on her wrinkled face. “It is small. Like for a doll.” She tapped her cane on the floor. “What is this line? Who drew this?”

  Kenna’s face heated. “I did. Lord Rothesay and I had an argument. I divided the room in two. You are standing on his side.”

  “Ridiculous!” Galloway snapped.

  The duchess looked around the room. “You gave him the side with the settee? That was an error.”

  “The door to the kitchen is on mine.”

  “Ah. Then it was a good choice. This dollhouse might have been useful, if it kept you safe from the storm.”

  The prince sent her a hard look. “We are lucky they found shelter. You put them in grave danger with your games.”

  “Nonsense. Look at them. They are healthy, well fed, perhaps not so well dressed, but—” She squinted at a painting by the fireplace. “Is that a—”

  “The artwork is very stylistic,” Kenna said hastily.

  Stormont had the grace to flush.

  “Stormont?” Marcus asked. When the viscount turned his way, Marcus added, “I believe this is yours as well.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the ruby earring Kenna had found in the bedchamber.

  Stormont’s expression froze. “I’ve never seen that before. I have no idea whose it is.”

  “I know whose it is—and why it is here,” Marcus said quietly. He tossed the earring to the viscount, who caught it automatically. “When you return home, pray tell Lady Perth she is to move her things from my town home before I return to Edinburgh.”

  “Lady Perth?” Lord Galloway looked from Marcus to Stormont, and then back. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  “Ask Lord Stormont,” Marcus said.

  “I will not,” the earl said testily. “She is a harlot. Everyone knows it. Kenna, come. I will take you home, where you will stay until all talk of this unfortunate event has died down. If you are fortunate, Lord Stormont will restore your good name.”

  “I would like that very much,” the viscount said eagerly.

  “No.” Kenna shook her head, her thick braid swinging against her shoulder. “Father, it would be best for me to—”

  “You don’t know what’s best. You never have. You will go with me, but for the love of God, put something over that mussed gown. You look like a milkmaid.”

  The duchess thumped her cane. “Nik! Give the gel your cloak!” As she spoke, she cast a warning glance at Marcus.

  Marcus frowned, wondering what the old woman was about. But just then, in the mirror over the fireplace, he caught sight of the back of Kenna’s gown. A thick black charcoal stripe went straight down the back of the blue silk. His shirt was probably similarly marked. He cleared his throat. “Nik, your grandmother is right. Please allow Kenna to use your cloak.”

  It was obvious Nik had no idea what was going on, but he obediently undid his cloak and swung it about Kenna’s shoulders, hiding the telltale stripe from sight.

  “Enough of this.” Father walked toward the door. “Come, Kenna.”

  She didn’t move.

  He continued on, only pausing when he realized she was not following. “Did you hear me?”

  “I did. And I’m not coming.”

  His mouth turned white. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do as I tell you.”

  Kenna’s jaw firmed. “No.”

  A startled silence settled over the room, and then Stormont laughed nervously. “Kenna—Lady Montrose, please. Go with your father. I’ll come and visit first thing in the morning, so you won’t be left alone.”

  “No. I’m through, Father. Until you can speak to me without ordering me about like a dog that needs to be brought to heel, we will be polite but distant strangers.”

  “Do you know what you are saying?”

  “I know exactly what I am saying.”

  “I will disinherit you!”

  “Then do so. I never wished for your properties, anyway. I’ve plenty on my own.”

  Stormont made a whimpering sound, while Galloway’s face went from red to white. “You ungrateful, irreverent, pathetic—”

  Marcus started forward, but Nik grabbed his shoulder. “Let her handle this,” the prince murmured.

  Kenna was already speaking. “It would be best if you returned home, Father.”

  “You’ll—”

  “Now.”

  Silence filled the room. Marcus had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her, this proud woman. She had changed since he knew her and he was only now realizing how much.

  Stormont gave a nervous laugh. “It— This is such an awkward moment, isn’t it? I— We should— Kenna, ride with me, and we’ll take your things to your father’s later on, when you are less—”

  “No. I will not ride with you.”

  Lord Galloway’s eyes narrowed, while Viscount Stormont blinked in astonishment. The viscount finally found his tongue. “But . . . I’m willing to marry you!”

  “But I don’t wish to marry you,” she replied baldly.

  The viscount looked astonished. “But Lady Montrose, your father and I have spoken and—”

  “You may speak to him all you wish, but he does not speak for me. You have asked me to marry you a dozen times, and a dozen times I’ve said no. I’m tired of repeating myself. In fact, if you ask me again, I will cut off both of your ears and stuff them in your mouth.”

  Stormont paled.

  The duchess nodded thoughtfully. “You cut his ears off because he will not listen, nyet? That is a good retribution. I approve.”

  “Thank you, your grace. If you could spare me a seat in your carriage, I will return to Stormont’s—”

  “We can talk there—” he began eagerly.

  “—where I will pack my things, and leave.”

  The viscount’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t understand.”

  “I do,” Galloway said grimly, with a venomous look at Marcus. “Kenna, if you’ve thrown yourself in this man’s path again, I will—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Father. Do what you will—but do it in quiet.”

  She turned to Marcus, who had never seen her so stern. “As for you, I am returning to my home in Edinburgh. I think we have a future, if we but have the patience and courage to pursue it. I will wait two days for you to make up your mind. After that, I am leaving. I don’t know where. Perhaps Italy. Maybe Greece. But it’s my turn to enjoy myself.”

  “Kenna!” Lord Galloway snapped. “You are making a fool of yourself! This is unmaidenly—”

  “Good-bye, Father.” Kenna turned and left the room, the prince’s cloak swirling about her blue gown, the duchess’s footman closing the door behind her.

  Marcus had never been prouder of her.

  The duchess chuckled. “This is a good day, nyet? I think I will have something to remember it by.” She walked to the wall, took a picture from its nail, and tucked it under her arm. “This will do.”

  Marcus stifled a laugh as she limped from the room, her footman hurrying to close the door.

  In the foyer, Kenna turned as the duchess joined her. “Thank you for your kind assistance, your grace.”
/>   “Pah! You stick a finger in all their eyes. They deserve it. I will take you home, and we will have some vodka while your maid packs your bags.”

  “Vodka?”

  “It is like lemonade, only better for your blood. Hmm. Now that I think about it, I have some in the carriage. I will share some with you on the way home. It will cool those hot cheeks of yours.”

  “Thank you. That is very kind.”

  They walked outside, the bright sun almost blinding on the snow. The footman took the duchess’s arm and helped her walk down a narrow path that had been stomped into the snow on her arrival, Kenna following.

  Her heart ached, even as she reveled in the freedom she’d just declared for herself. Father would not bother her now; she’d never again succumb to his bullying. And she’d never again allow Stormont to even speak to her. Now, all she had to do was make her way to Edinburgh and await Marcus.

  If he comes. Her heart ached at the thought. He has to, she told herself. We still have much to talk about, adventures to have, perhaps even lives to share. Only time will tell. Will he take the chance?

  She’d been bold in giving him an ultimatum, and perhaps Father was right about her being unmaidenly. But she was tired of being the one left behind. Tired of waiting for happiness.

  They reached the carriage, where more footmen met them, opening the door and pulling down the steps. Just as the duchess was handed inside, Marcus strode around the corner of the cottage.

  He walked straight to Kenna, never hesitating, dark and powerful. “Leave us,” he ordered the footman who stood ready to assist her into the coach. “I would speak with Lady Montrose.”

  The footman looked at her grace, who gestured for him to stand at the ready by the coach door. Then she leaned out the window as if watching a sporting event.

  Kenna’s throat was so tight, she could barely breathe. Perhaps he will tell me not to wait the two days. That I have made assumptions I had no right to. He might say I am forward and demanding—

  “You have been bold this morning. Bold in many ways.” His deep, rich voice flooded her with warmth from head to toe, thawing the tears she’d held back.