* * *
A great number of people crowded into the Great Hall at Alderley afterwards for a wedding breakfast that merged into a Twelfth Night celebration.
He meant to leave quietly, slipping out of the place with Polly, without anyone noticing.
It didn’t work at all.
The bishop shook his hand happily on the front steps. ‘I’ll wish you a goodnight, boy.’
The wink sent heat surging across his cheek-bones.
‘Thank you,’ he said, but the bishop had turned his attention to Polly, bussing her heartily on both cheeks, and whispering something that sent colour flying to her face as well.
‘You make sure he takes good care of you, child,’ he continued, holding both her hands between his.
‘I will, sir,’ Alex assured him, wrapping Polly’s cloak around her.
Dominic enveloped him in a bear hug. ‘Keep those books as long as you like, Alex.’ His grin was wicked.
Alex cleared his throat.
‘What books?’ asked Pippa curiously.
Dominic’s grin turned even more wicked. ‘I’ll explain later.’
‘Books?’ asked Polly, as Alex handed her up into the gig.
He made a pretence of checking the harness. ‘Just some books Dominic lent to me.’
* * *
Stars blazing above, they came into the village at a slow trot, the horse’s breath steaming in the cold brightness. Polly snuggled close against Alex—her husband. This night of all nights, coming home was right. The dusting of snow cast its own starlit glimmer, enough to see by and this was where they belonged, where they should start their married life...her train of thought broke.
‘There’s a lantern lit on my doorstep,’ she said, straightening. ‘I mean, my old doorstep. What on earth is that doing there? And the chimney is smoking!’
Alex steadied the horse. ‘Odd. I’ll take Buttons around to the rectory stables while you go inside and then I’ll check.’
‘We’ll check,’ she said.
He raised a brow. ‘The obey part didn’t last long.’
She just smiled and he laughed. ‘Very well, but it’s cold.’
Alex’s groom came out, wished them happy and took the gig and horse. ‘We’re just stepping around to the schoolhouse, Jim,’ said Alex. ‘Someone’s left a lit lantern on the front step. It should be put out.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Jim, not sounding at all surprised. ‘Best take a look inside, Rector. Never know what them rascally young’uns’ll get up to.’
* * *
Inside, the cottage was warm as toast and a veritable forest of greenery festooned the little room. Setting the lantern on the table, Alex stared around. A bottle of his favourite wine and two of his best wine glasses stood on the table. A counterpane he was fairly sure was out of his spare bedchamber had been added to the bed. A large loaf of bread, still warm, a pat of butter, a pot of jam and a bowl of eggs also sat on the table. Someone, he concluded, probably several someones, was giving him a very broad hint.
He hesitated. Surely he should take her home to the rectory? But he’d fallen in love with Polly in this room. What could be sweeter or more fitting than for their marriage to start here? Besides which, he wasn’t entirely certain he could be trusted to get her as far as his bed in the rectory...
Polly gazed around the little room that had been her home. ‘They’ve...they’ve prepared it for us,’ she said softly. ‘Like a bridal bower.’ And left the lantern outside to ensure they investigated.
‘Shall we stay here, love?’
His deep voice shook a little, and, her heart leaping into her throat, she turned to him, suddenly nervous.
He seemed to know.
‘Polly, nothing has to happen tonight if you don’t want it to—’
Oh, but she did want it. It was just... ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she confessed. ‘Not really.’
He came to her, took her hands in a gentle clasp. ‘Then we’ll find out together.’
‘Together?’
His smile was rueful, tender. ‘Sweetheart, you won’t be the only virgin in that bed.’
For a moment she didn’t understand, and then— ‘Oh.’ She blushed. ‘You haven’t—?’
‘No.’ His hands tightened and he lifted hers to his lips. ‘I haven’t. For better or for worse, I’m entirely yours.’
* * *
Candlelight and warm, fire-lit shadows wove and danced around them as, with soft murmurs and whispers, clothes were discarded, falling unregarded until she was trembling in his arms, clad only in her chemise. His shirt was gone and his chest grazed her breasts, a shuddering pleasure. One large, gentle hand shook on her hip, trailed fire up over her waist and found an aching nipple through the soft linen. She gasped as he caressed it and he stole the sound from her lips with a searing kiss, swinging her up into his arms and walking to the bed to lay her in it.
He watched her as he finished undressing, his gaze hot, turning her bones to honey. Her breath shortened as he pushed off his drawers and slid into the bed with her, pulling the covers over them. For a moment he held back, just gazing at her, and she did not know what to say, what to do. And then she realised. There was nothing to say. Only something to do. Daringly, she sat up, hauled off the chemise and held out her arms. Heat darkened his eyes and he came to her in swift urgency, taking her mouth in a fierce kiss that took everything and promised more.
The world burned in a bright crucible, remade in fire as he felt her soft breasts crushed against him, tasted her need and passion. His hands stroked and explored. Lord! How could skin be so supple, so silken? His fingers shook as he stroked a peaked nipple and he bent his head to taste, to lick and suck gently. Her body arched against him and her soft cry nearly unmanned him as her fingers dug into his shoulders. So many sweet places asking for his possession. His hand slid down, over her hip, pressing between her thighs, finding a heated welcome.
She gasped in shock, stiffening, and he stopped at once, breathing hard. Fear streaked through him. If he’d frightened her, shocked her, he didn’t think he could bear it.
‘Polly...’
‘I don’t know how to please you,’ she whispered.
Please him? If she pleased him any more he’d probably die. But— ‘Touch me,’ he murmured. ‘Just touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. And let me touch you the same way.’ If he was going to burn he might as well do it properly.
‘Yes.’
He gritted his teeth as her hands moved, explored, a curious finger stroking his nipple so that he groaned. A tentative kiss and lick that nearly shattered his precarious control. He hung on to it and slowly, very slowly, slid his hand back to the springy curls between her thighs. Again she stilled, but then as he stroked gently and took her mouth in a tender kiss, her thighs opened and he found her.
Hot. Damp. And so very soft.
‘Alex?’
His name had never sounded so sweet. He kissed her deeply, feeling her response in a liquid rush on his fingers, finding a spot that brought a sharp cry to her lips and had her hips surging against him, seeking more. Shaken, near to breaking point, he gave it to her, loving her until she was crying and twisting against him.
‘Polly.’ Her name was a ragged groan. ‘Sweetheart, I don’t think I can wait any longer.’ He ached to possess, to be possessed in turn.
Her lips brushed his jaw. ‘Then do not.’
And in the end it was the sweetest, most natural thing in the world. At his gentle urging, her thighs parted eagerly on a sigh he drank from her lips and he was there. Pressing into the loving welcome of her body. His senses reeled at the tight heat caressing him, the silken feel of her body cradling his, her breasts against his chest, the taste and scent of her, and he fought to make this moment last for both of them.
And then he felt it, her body’s innocent resistance, and the slight jerk of pain at his threatened entry, heard her breath catch. He hesitated, shaking, burning, and she cried out, her hips pushing up against him and his body answered her plea, taking her with a swift, gentle completeness.
And they shall become one flesh. He shuddered, lost in wonder. He didn’t know where he ended and she began, if he had taken her or given himself. He didn’t even know if it mattered. They were one. She lay trembling beneath him, her body yielded and he was all hers. Nothing else was, or could be. Here, in this bed, he had everything.
Carefully, his blood burning, he began to move and discovered there was more to have. Far more. The soft gasp of her breath, her body in harmony with his, blood and bone in perfect union as he loved her to the depths of his soul and found the well of giving to be infinite as her love poured back. And there was the earthly joy of flesh sliding against flesh, his body inside hers, held tight and sweet, her frantic sobs that echoed the pounding of his heart, her mouth clinging to his. He could feel the end coming, bearing down on him in bone-shaking glory, but she was still moving, pleading, needing more of him. With a groan, he slid his hand down between their bodies, found the sensitive nub above where they joined, and pressed. She cried out, her body convulsing about him, and he was there with her, the world broken and ablaze as consummation took them.
* * *
Polly awoke, realised she was alone in the bed, and that, judging by an over-enthusiastic rooster, it must be nearly dawn. Rolling over, relaxed and sleepy, she saw Alex, gorgeously, wonderfully naked, putting a couple of logs on the fire. She watched, wondering if the bishop would be shocked to know what a wanton the Rector of Alderford had married. Probably not, she decided. He’d had a distinctly worldly twinkle in his eye as he wished Alex a goodnight...as he’d whispered to her that he had no doubt of it at all...
Alex turned to come back to bed, back to her, and her breath caught as he smiled at her. He looked...not sleepy at all, but extremely wide awake. He got into the bed, pulling the covers snugly over them.
‘Fortunately,’ he said, as he took her in his arms in a far-from-sleepy manner, ‘it doesn’t matter whether that was a nightingale, a lark or just Bill Fenton’s misbegotten rooster—we can stay right here and enjoy ourselves.’
* * *
‘We might,’ Alex murmured some time later, ‘have made a Twelfth Night baby.’ They lay cosily in bed, listening to the world come alive outside in the village street, and Polly was the warmest, sweetest weight imaginable in his arms.
Her breath caught, even as she blushed scarlet. ‘That is a very improper thing to say,’ she said, rather unconvincingly.
‘Nothing improper about it,’ he assured her. ‘Twelfth Night is a traditional time for renewing fertility and tumbling maidens. Not in the woods like May Day, of course, too cold for that. But...’ he glanced up at the greenery swathing her bed ‘...I note that someone has brought the woods to us, so it will probably work just the same.’
‘And that,’ she said severely, ‘is a very wicked, pagan thought.’
He grinned down at her and stole a kiss. ‘It is indeed.’ He kissed her again until she was squirming pleasurably against him. Lifting his mouth from hers, he noted that her eyes were thoroughly dazed. ‘Remember those books Dominic mentioned? I borrowed them from his library,’ he told her, caressing the silken curve of one hip.
‘Oh? What sort of books?’ she asked, wriggling against him in a way that guaranteed his insanity. ‘Like the ones Pippa says you have from Pompeii?’
He choked. ‘Not quite,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘But they were certainly full of wicked, pagan suggestions.’ His mouth drifted lower, finding the sweet, frantic beat in her throat. ‘All about how to tumble maidens. The sort of things a rector shouldn’t even know about, probably.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But since you do...’
He rolled on to his back and lifted her over him. ‘Since I do...’ he agreed.
* * * * *
Finding Forever
at Christmas
Bronwyn Scott
Dear Reader,
There’s so much to love about Christmas! I love presents. One of my favorite sayings is that good things come in small packages, and that is certainly true with Finn and Catherine’s story, which is packed full of presents.
First, it’s a story about coming home, which is a powerful theme for a lot of us. Catherine is home after five formative years in Paris, and she is coming back a “grown-up.” Finn has returned after pursuing his scientific ambitions in the Caribbean. Both are wondering if home is a place that suits them anymore or if they’ve outgrown it. If so, where do they belong now?
The second present in the story is for regular Bronwyn Scott readers. You’ll never guess who Finn teams up with in the Caribbean! Regulars will recognize Viscount Wainsbridge right away from A Thoroughly Compromised Lady. If not, this would be a perfect chance to give yourself a little Christmas present and read it. Jack and Dulci’s wild adventure won’t disappoint.
The third present wrapped in this story is the first glimpse at the brand-new series Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous! In Finn’s story, you get to meet his younger brother, Channing Deverill, who has an interesting pastime. He runs an all-male escort service in London on the sly—the League of Discreet Gentlemen. What Channing is actually doing at the Christmas Party with Lady Alina Marliss, only time will tell—look for that exciting new series, starting with Secrets of a Gentleman Escort, in January 2014. Drop by and visit the blog for updates at www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com.
Merry Christmas,
Bronwyn Scott
DEDICATION
For Max and Lara and their family, just because. Who would have thought when we became friends thirty-three years ago at a young-writers’ conference (let’s emphasize young, we were twelve, after all) it would have turned out like this? Actually, I’m not surprised at all. You’re writing papers on Hebrew vowels and I’m writing romance novels and, yep, that sounds about right. Love to you all.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
December 21st, 1838
She was home! Catherine Emerson knew it the moment she stepped into the foyer of Deverill Hall as assuredly as she knew her own name. The hall was just as she remembered it: the long oak staircase draped with winter pine, boughs laden with red-satin bows and ropes of gold beads; she breathed deeply, taking in the sharp tang of the outdoors brought inside. It might possibly be her favourite scent. Five years had been a long time to be away.
Of course this wasn’t really her home in the truest sense. Her home was two miles away, where she lived with her mother and father—quietly. The ‘un-quiet’ of the Deverill household was one of the things she loved the most about it. It had been a marvel of her childhood to know a family with not one, but four children in it. Nothing had ever been quiet about Deverill Hall.
To prove it, a loud scream of delight echoed from the top of the stairs, ‘Catherine!’ Rapid footsteps tapped down the steps in a flurry of brightly coloured skirts, announcing the arrival of the Deverill girls. Catherine smiled. Some things never changed.
‘Alyson, Meredith!’ Catherine was caught up in their embraces, all three of them laughing and talking at once. They’d been inseparable in their youth. In the summers she’d practically lived here, running the fields, riding the grass tracks. She’d been such a regular companion, she’d had her own room, even her own pony, then a mare when she’d outgrown good-natured Henry.
‘Look at you! How sophisticated you’ve become!’ Meredith exclaimed, stepping back to take in her ensemble, a deep forest-green carriage dress, cut tight and form fitting in the latest fashion. ‘A white fur muff, too! It’s just exquisite, Catherine. Paris agrees with you.’
‘And engagement agrees with you.’ Meredith’s pale cheeks were aglow with colour, her blue eyes lit like candles. She looked positively beautiful. ‘I am so happy for you and for Marcus.’ Meredith engaged! It was almost too much to take in. She was glad Meredith had written and given her time to adjust to the news.
‘Alyson has news too.’ Meredith elbowed her younger sister and gave her a sly look. ‘You should tell Catherine.’
Alyson, the shyer of the two, blushed. ‘Nothing is for certain, but Jameson Ellis has been calling on me since the summer. I believe he will speak to Father while he’s here for the Christmas festivities.’
‘Oh, how wonderful.’ Catherine smiled, but inside she felt a little piece of her hopes crumble. Both girls to marry! Where would that leave her? She’d been gone and the world she’d left behind had changed. Catherine looked up at the staircase, her sense of homecoming diminished. She’d come here wanting to catch up. But instead everyone had moved on.
She’d known where she belonged in the old world—here at Deverill Hall with her friends, her second family. She wasn’t sure where she belonged in the new. Would there even be room in that new world where she had to share her friends with husbands and babies and whole new families? It wasn’t that she was jealous or that she begrudged the girls any of their happiness, it was just that she’d rather wrongly and unrealistically thought everything would have frozen in time, waiting for her to return.
Alyson tugged at her hand, excitedly. ‘Finn and Channing are both home.’ She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Finn’s latest mistress threw a diamond necklace at him. Apparently, she didn’t like her parting gift.’
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