12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2018

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12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2018 Page 65

by Isabella Kole


  He eased his rocks, his hand still on her sex, the other stroking her fiery backside. “Not nearly enough for you, my sweet little rose.” Lifting her, he lay her on the hearthrug, then sat back down to remove his boots while Cassandra undressed. When she moved to roll down her silk stockings, he raised a hand.

  “No, leave them. They please my eye.”

  Cassandra rested back on her elbows to eye him saucily. “Yes, Lord Leaping.”

  He stood before her naked, his member standing perpendicular despite its heft. Cassandra’s mouth watered at the thought of accommodating its weight in her mouth before she took it into her body. He seemed to know her thoughts as his eyes sparked in understanding. Lying down beside her, he ran his hands up her stockings to spread her open with his thumbs.

  “You are a beautiful wanton creature, Cassandra of Hawtry,” he said, his thumbs making circlets over her heated flesh. “You are young, but your sensuality is beyond the most practised lover. You have bewitched me.”

  Cassandra wriggled down, took him in her fingers, bent her head.

  He drew her back. “And as much as I welcome your pretty mouth, I have other needs to satisfy first.” Lying her down along the hearthrug, he drew her knees up, spread her wide to dip his forefinger deep, moving around to locate her most susceptible area. She was on the verge of climax when he withdrew, lifted her legs over his shoulders and leaned over her. Cassandra tensed, expecting more smacks but in their place, he sank his face between her legs.

  Mmm, how perfect this decadence. Cassandra angled her hips to offer him everything she had, rejoicing in every, dip, nibble and suckle of lips and tongue. And when she convulsed into climax, his hands gripped her thighs so painfully to keep her to his mouth, it simply added to the sweet release.

  “Oh… oh, Antony, you are a most thoughtful man,” she cried as he continued to suck her, causing her to spasm again.

  “And your little peach satisfies me no end,” he murmured, taking a final lick.

  Pushing up on his hands, he smacked his lips in a most ungentlemanly manner before placing himself between her legs. Cassandra widened her knees all the way to take the pillar pressing at her entrance. He entered hard, took himself to the hilt in a single thrust. Cassandra gasped, feeling her core rippling around the deep occupation. She gripped on the retreat, opened herself to ease the return.

  “Do I hurt you, madam?” he asked when she yelped at a particularly powerful plunge.

  “Sir, you are so big. You stretch me too far.”

  He came to a stop, cupped her chin, looked hard into her eyes. “I am readying you for your husband as you wanted. When he takes you for the first time, he will be so consumed by the way your honeypot grips his maypole, he’ll not notice your impure state.”

  At the thought of Sir Rupert in her honeypot, Cassandra went cold. “But—”

  “No more of this talk,” the earl said, resuming his drives. “Let us savor this jaunt.”

  And she did, for many minutes, until Lord Leaping slid his hand beneath her hips, lifted her high and sent her bolting over the finish line.

  They collapsed, panting and spent. Her mind should be as content as her body, but Lord Leaping’s lovemaking had finally confirmed to Cassandra that she could never lie with another man, at least not until she had Lord Leaping out of her system. It could take years to tire of his lovemaking. But what convincing story to tell Sir Rupert? Marrying him for his money had seemed so obvious, so sensible that she’d scarcely given it thought prior to accepting his proposal.

  “What troubles you, Cassandra?”

  She nestled her face in the earl’s shoulder. “Things have changed.”

  “In what way?”

  How could she tell the biggest rake in England of her feelings for him? He would have heard those words from every woman he had ever bedded. Besides, a lady did not profess affection for a gentleman, at least not until he’d expressed his undying love and promised her the earth. Quite simply, she had put herself in a pickle with the Earl of Rootham.

  “I understand you are to spend Yule at Kilburn,” she said casually, tracing a finger over his broad chest. “With Lady Isabel.”

  Cassandra felt his small laugh vibrate against her cheek. “Apparently that is the dowager’s wish.”

  “And your wish, Lord Leaping?”

  He raised his head to look at her. “Why do you want to know of my wishes?”

  “I-I only wondered.”

  His fingers toyed with her nipple. “What you and I have is an arrangement, Cassandra. I’ve given you the instruction you sought, you have given my loins a hearty time. Do not expect more.”

  Cassandra sat up with a jerk. “Sir, it is true what they say. You are a cad.”

  “But an honest cad, madam. You have cheated on your fiancé repeatedly, without conscience.”

  “I do not care a whit for him!” she shouted. “He’s a bank account!”

  “Then ensure your financial future and marry him while you still can,” the earl said, turning his attention to her other nipple. “You could be carrying that randy stable hand’s child.”

  “I have bled since then,” Cassandra retorted, shaken all the same. It could so easily have happened, considering Drum’s large brood. “Have you thought that I might have conceived your child last night?”

  He nodded thoughtfully while continuing to pluck at her nipple. “That is a possibility.”

  “In which case,” she said, curving to the earl’s delectable touch, “I would be taking your child into my marriage.”

  The earl abandoned her nipple to dip a finger into her sex. “It’s normal for a man of class to conceive at least one child on the wrong side of the blankets. Sir Rupert won’t mind.”

  Cassandra was so shocked at his words, she pushed him away. “I thought I bewitched you,” she sniped plaintively. “Yet you are so callous with my feelings.”

  He arched a brow. “I’m not one of your naïve suitors to be played like a cat with a mouse, Cassandra. Nor do I lose my head over a woman. Yes, you are bewitching, but you are also a minx who got what she asked for.” He picked up the crop. “Perhaps another gallop around the course will settle you ahead of the journey home.”

  Cassandra was, in a word, outraged. How dare he speak to her in that manner? How dare he not appreciate her generosity in giving him her body? How dare he not hold devotion to her? Lord Leaping had a heart of stone to not want her when so many others did. The knowledge came as a blow to her heart, yet she could not deny herself one final exhilaration of Lord Leaping’s dominance.

  “Sir, you are a cold-hearted bounder,” she said, lying face down. “But I am ready.”

  Lord Leaping did not touch her in the way she expected. Rather, he pressed his mouth to the back of her neck to make a path down her body to kiss her bottom. Cassandra, completely bewildered by this most intimate treatment, automatically arched to accept the crop. There was no crop, no hand, only the feel of his lips kissing her bruises and his fingers stroking the backs of her thighs. When he finally rolled her over to mount her again, she looked for a betraying emotion in his eyes, but saw only the lust that enchanted her so.

  As their lovemaking commenced, grew more passionate, Cassandra embraced Lord Leaping in body and mind. She had a lover she could not sway, tomorrow it would be a fiancé she did not want. For the first time in her life, Lady Cassandra Worthingstone had no answer to her situation.

  Part III

  Christmas Day in Hawtry House was always a festive occasion for it enabled the Viscount Hawtry to partake of copious amounts of mulled wine, mead, turkey and any manner of sweets the kitchen produced. As always, the festivities commenced in the drawing room at exactly ten o’clock, where the estate’s staff gathered around to admire the Christmas tree. The practice of a decorated tree indoors had been introduced by Prince Albert at Windsor Castle, a decade or so earlier. Cassandra’s father, refusing to be outdone, had promptly followed suit. Since then, his Christmas trees grew bigger an
d more elaborate each year. And this year, as was his custom, he had dressed like Father Christmas to issue mulled wine and gifts to everyone. It was a jolly occasion that Cassandra enjoyed despite her unhappiness over Lord Leaping’s behavior. Yesterday, he had delivered her home on his horse, leading Jasper. Cassandra, perched sideways in the saddle in front of the earl, imagined herself a princess on a ride to a magic castle in the arms of her knight. Except the earl was neither a knight, nor she his princess. He’d carried her up the steps of Hawtry House, deposited her on a stone bench beside the front door, then promptly left. If he ever dared to call on her, he would receive a frosty welcome, or better, no welcome at all. The man was a knave.

  “How is your ankle, daughter?”

  Cassandra turned to her father. The viscount’s face now matched his red suit, caused by an excess of alcohol and a great deal of merriment.

  “It is fine, Father.”

  “Drum said you insisted on Jasper. Girl, you might have killed yourself on that steed. Will you never learn?”

  “Apparently not, Father.”

  The viscount drained his mug of mead, belched, rubbed his paunch. “I must say this is especially good mead. And excellent weather for turkey eating. What do you think?”

  “Yes, it is a fine day for turkey,” Cassandra agreed, kissing her father’s cheek. “You have done everyone proud. The servants are thrilled with their gifts.”

  Even Drum had been exceptionally pleased to receive a new riding cap. He’d worn the object for two circuits of the drawing room before Partridge had ripped it from his head, scolding him for wearing it in the presence of nobility. The viscount was a generous man with his gifts. He looked kindly on everyone, especially his daughter, even if she didn’t always see it that way. In any event, she could not marry Sir Rupert Swan. Not only did she not want him, she had grown a conscience. In accepting his proposal, she had been unfair to him. Her thoughtless action could ruin him for marriage to any other woman.

  “Father, about Sir Rupert. I must see him immediately he arrives.”

  The viscount uplifted a mug of mead from a passing tray of drinks, drank most of it before answering. “Of course. He will be delighted at your eagerness.”

  “Until then, I’m going to rest.”

  Her father’s eyes registered disappointment. “You will miss our game of Pass the Slipper. However, you do look pale. Are you unwell?”

  “I didn’t sleep well last night. Partridge will let me know when Sir Rupert arrives.”

  “Then off you go.”

  She left her father deep in conversation with the cook, Mrs. Dove – no doubt to gather the specifics on the size and weight of the turkey and the ingredients for the stuffing.

  Cassandra sat on the edge of her four-poster bed, feeling lost. She had no desire to spoil everyone’s Christmas, but it could not be avoided. Sir Rupert had to be told today. He’d be surprised, perhaps angry, perhaps leave in a huff. Whatever the outcome, it could not be helped.

  She lay down, staring at the lace canopy above her bed, while thinking of what to say to Sir Rupert. Short and to the point would be best. It was not as if he were a suitor to be strung along for the enjoyment.

  “Milady, your visitor is here. The footman has shown him to the library.”

  “Thank you, Partridge.”

  Cassandra checked herself in the mirror. Father was right. She looked very pale. Her hair had come loose and her pretty red and white dress with the embroidered trim now bore creases. What did it matter if Sir Rupert saw her at less than her best? After their conversation, he would have no interest in her anyway.

  Taking her shawl, she went downstairs to the library. The first thing she noticed about Sir Rupert Swan was his bearing. He stood at the window as straight as a ramrod.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Rupert.”

  He came to her, bowed low, kissed her hand. “Lady Cassandra. I’m pleased to meet you at last.”

  Cassandra quickly extricated her hand, took herself to the sofa. Sir Rupert settled into a chair opposite, leaning back to stretch his legs in a most indecorous way. There was no question that Rupert Swan’s brashness gave him a certain attraction. He was also good looking. His hair was fair, his eyes green, his features regular. If it were not for Lord Antony Leaping, this morning’s conversation would be one of wedding plans and honeymoons.

  “How was your trip, Sir Rupert?”

  “It was pleasant enough,” he said. His eyes roamed her décolletage in a way Cassandra considered far too forward, even for a fiancé. “How is your festive day progressing, my lady?”

  Cassandra decided not to waste time with preliminaries. The more they conversed, the harder it would be to achieve a graceful exit from the betrothal. “There is a matter I must discuss with you, Sir Rupert…”

  “I think we can dispense with the formalities, Cassandra.” He moved to sit beside her. “It is time for us to get to know one another.”

  Cassandra shifted along the sofa. He followed. “Sir Rupert, I have something to say that requires a steady head.”

  “Not so steady that I cannot steal a kiss from my betrothed.”

  “Please, sir,” Cassandra squeaked when his hand encircled her waist to pull her to him. “I do not know you.”

  “We can soon remedy that,” he muttered, his mouth bearing down on hers. “You are a tasty little thing. I cannot wait to have you in the marriage bed.”

  Cassandra launched herself from his arms, walking backwards as he stood to advance on her. “Sir, I find your behavior improper.”

  “I am your fiancé. Surely you have been kissed before.”

  “No, sir. I have never been kissed.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Father would not allow me to be alone with a man.”

  He smiled roguishly. “Madam, I desire to carry you upstairs this very second. I doubt your father will mind under the circumstances. I have waited a long time for you.”

  Cassandra had not expected such a lusty fiancé. “Sir Rupert,” she said with all the force she could muster. “There can be no marriage. I’m sorry you have come all this way, but I have no desire to wed you.”

  He raked his hand through his fair hair while looking at her thoughtfully. “I confess you have caught me by surprise. I thought the arrangement was set.”

  “Consider it unset. Now if you will excuse me, I will join my father in the drawing room.”

  Sir Rupert’s brazen gaze traveled the length of her. “Not until I take my kiss.”

  At that moment, the door opened and the viscount appeared. Cassandra flew to him. “Father, I am so pleased to see you. I have spoken to Sir Rupert—”

  “Good day to you, my lord,” her father exclaimed with a toasty smile. “I had no idea you were to call on us.”

  Cassandra blew an exasperated breath. “You’ve had too much mead, Father. You know this man is not a lord. He is Sir Rupert Swan. Gracious, you’ve met him often enough.”

  Her father looked at her indulgently. “Daughter, what has come over you? This is Lord Leaping.”

  Spinning on her heels, she stared at the man in front of her. He smiled – a wolfish thing that rather alarmed Cassandra. “Madam, I must confess all. I am Lord Antony Leaping, the Earl of Rootham.”

  Cassandra saw the room spinning around her, felt her legs buckling. Determined not to faint, as she already felt foolish enough, she willed her legs to the sofa where she plunked down with a whoosh, her skirts billowing high. Dear God, what had she done? Worse, whom had she done it with?

  “We are delighted to have you here, Lord Leaping,” he father gushed,” but I must ask you, what brings you to Hawtry House on Christmas Day? I understood you were to dine with the Marquess and Marchioness of Kilburn and their lovely daughter.”

  “I’m here to escape that fate,” responded the earl with a shudder. “If you can bear me for an hour or two, I would be most grateful. There is a woman in the village that unfortunately will be alone for Christm
as. I have offered to keep her company for the rest of the day.”

  “A most generous gesture, my lord. We have plenty of turkey and I’m told servings of French hen. More than enough to go around if you care to dine first.” He pulled the bell cord. “Mead is in order, I think. What about you, daughter? You look peaked.”

  Cassandra stared at her father dumbly. Not only had she the wrong man, she had yet to endure her fiancé’s arrival. There was but one solution. She would feign illness and hide in her room for the rest of the day. Sir Rupert would have to wait until tomorrow.

  “Father,” she said, standing on wobbly feet, “I must—”

  She got not further in her words as a second later the door opened. Cassandra stared in astonishment at the figure entering the room.

  “Lady Cassandra.”

  Cassandra tried to speak but nothing came out.

  “Sir Rupert, how nice to see you again,” her father said, shaking his guest’s hand exuberantly. He turned to Cassandra. “As you can see, my daughter is overcome by the sight of you. Do you know, she actually thought Lord Leaping was you?”

  “Really? How could that be?”

  Cassandra sat down again, staring stupidly at Sir Rupert Swan. A big beautiful beast with lush black hair, gray eyes and at this moment, wearing an unfathomable expression.

  “Lady Cassandra,” he said with a dip of his fine head. “You seem surprised. It’s almost as if you have seen me before.”

  If her father realized the extent of her shock, he gave no sign, warmly gesturing to the earl. “Sir Rupert, meet the Earl of Rootham.”

  Sir Rupert shook hands with the earl. “We are already acquainted. Antony and I were at Oxford together. I have been staying at Rootham Castle for the past week.”

  “Really?” Cassandra’s father rumbled in surprise. “Why did we not see you at the Christmas Ball or yesterday for that matter?”

  “Like Lord Leaping, I had business to attend to,” Sir Rupert answered, his eyes turning to Cassandra. “Important business.”

  Cassandra could only seethe at this added humiliation. Another one of her father’s expressions came to mind. She had been played like a fish on a hook. Rupert had toyed with her all along, and despite his politeness in her father’s presence, he would be inwardly laughing his head off over the whole charade. It was too much.

 

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