Invitation to a Cornish Christmas

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Now you see why I must be so careful. I have a reckless streak that cannot be indulged. I was doing well. I didn’t go to London last year and I won’t go this year, but then you came along and temptation has found me anyway.’ She ran a hand through his hair. ‘You with your golden good looks and easy touches, those blue eyes that gaze right through me, into me. You remind me of him with your earnestness and enthusiasm and that scares me. I can’t afford to make the same mistake twice, Cade.’

  She felt his hands tighten against her back, saw his blue eyes cloud as the smile faded from his face. She had insulted him with the truth. ‘I am nothing like him, Rose. I have been all that is honest with you.’ But he had to end his case there because they both knew it would come out wrong if he made it. He had been honest. In some ways he was no better than Dashiell Custis. He had not promised her a future because he didn’t have one to offer. He had offered her only friendship because Jock Treleven’s daughters were meant for better than a composer of limited celebrity. He’d kissed her because she’d permitted it. He’d shown her pleasure tonight because she’d permitted that, too, knowing full well there were no promises behind it.

  ‘I know, Cade. You have been honest and that makes you far more frightening than Dashiell Custis ever was. With you, I haven’t any excuses for my actions. With you, I can’t claim I misunderstand the situation.’ It was the only excuse she allowed herself about Custis. She had made her decisions with him based on false promises. That was nowhere near the case here.

  Cade reached up a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. ‘Everyone makes mistakes, everyone misjudges people at some point and whether it’s fair or not, everyone pays. Would it help to know you aren’t alone in that regard?’ He gave her one of his easy smiles and her worries faded. Cade was as good as his word. He wasn’t going to reject her, wasn’t going to be disappointed by her brush with disaster.

  She smiled back at him, laying her head against his shoulder and snuggling into him, enjoying the comfort of his arm about her. ‘Do I sense a confession coming on?’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘Yes. You wanted to know why I wasn’t in Vienna.’

  ‘You said there was no work to be had. Was that not true?’ She hoped it was. She didn’t want a lie from him, not even the smallest of lies.

  ‘It is true. But there was a reason for it. I was up for the post of court musician to a prince. He chose someone else. The man who got the post is a talented man, it’s not undeserved, but the reason I didn’t get it is that a woman spoke poison about me because she wanted more of my attention than I was willing to give her. When she didn’t receive it, she whispered horrible things about my character in the Prince’s ear. In fact, it wasn’t just the Prince’s ear she whispered them in. When she was done, no one was interested in hiring a profligate, amoral rake, who spent his money on debauched living, a claim, which I assure you, was grossly exaggerated. I’ve never been the worst man at anyone’s court, although to be fair, I’ve never been the best either.’

  ‘I appreciate your honesty,’ Rosenwyn murmured. So that was the answer as to why he was here. A vicious tongue had cost him his livelihood, although he’d not been an innocent victim. She knew what he meant by not being the ‘best man’ at any court either. He dallied on occasions with married women and that was always a risky business. She didn’t condone it, but that was the cosmopolitan life of the cities. She’d seen it in London, too. At least he’d owned up to it. ‘I am sorry...’ she drew his mouth down to hers ‘...but not too sorry. I would not have met you if you’d stayed in Vienna.’ She kissed him then, softly and tenderly. ‘We’re both exiles, but for different reasons. I fled London because the rumours were true. You fled Vienna because the rumours were false.’ Both of them had been played by dishonest people. How interesting to discover yet one more thing they had in common, when two weeks ago she’d thought they were nothing alike.

  He kissed her in return, hungry and insistent, his desire evident against her thigh, through layers of trousers and skirts. He was the one who drew back this time and set her off his lap. ‘I won’t pretend I don’t want you, Rose. I would claim more than kisses from you if I could. Wolves don’t lurk only in the woods.’ He was warning her, giving her far more consideration than Dashiell ever had. Dashiell had seen her passion and manipulated it. Cade was giving her a choice because in the end she was the one who risked the most if this went any further. It wasn’t only the physical risks, but the emotional ones. Cade had closed himself off years ago. He allowed himself only the indulgence of short physical affairs, which made her gamble all the more mortifying. He might not be capable or willing of giving her anything more even if she chanced it.

  At the door, he helped her into her blue coat, his hands lingering at her shoulders. ‘Will you come to Penzance tomorrow?’

  ‘I thought it was already decided.’ She tied her bonnet on, but her fingers fumbled with the bow, desire and anticipation rising between them once more. He was asking again in the subtle way he’d asked her to come to the gatehouse.

  Cade shrugged into his greatcoat and gave her a stern look. ‘That was before.’ Before he’d pleasured her on a piano bench, before they’d confessed another piece of their souls to one another. Going to Penzance tomorrow was no longer just about printing copies of the cantata. This would be their chance to claim a moment out of time where they could be together, perhaps their only chance. It could be done. The question remained: Should it be?

  They did not talk of Penzance as he walked her home along the oft-travelled road that led between Karrek House and the Treleven estate. At the entrance to the drive where the shadows still hid them from view, he simply said, ‘I want to leave at eight. Send me a note if you change your mind, Rose.’ He bowed over her hand and kissed it. ‘I will understand if you do.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She squeezed his hand in assurance, her gaze steady. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ It was tomorrow or not at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Penzance, with its population of fifteen hundred, was by no means a big town, but it was larger than Porth Karrek and that made all the difference. Penzance sported a printing press, more than one inn and specialised shops that allowed a customer more choices. It was also closer than travelling inland to Truro. Cade and Rosenwyn’s first stop had been the printer’s, leaving strict instructions that the copies be ready that afternoon. Then, they took to the streets.

  The town boasted a festive air as they enjoyed the shops before the day turned busy. Merchants’ windows were decorated with greenery and crammed full of Christmas delicacies. They settled at the Turk’s Head inn for an early lunch featuring fish pie with a flaky crust. They were careful to sit away from the window where they could be noticed. They were being discreet. Penzance was close enough to Porth Karrek that one never knew who one might meet.

  ‘I’ve reserved a room so that you can refresh yourself and rest this afternoon while we wait for the printer.’ Cade calmly slid a key towards her and Rosenwyn’s anticipation ratcheted a final notch as she took it. She hoped she looked as calm as Cade sounded. She’d been on full alert all morning, bristling with awareness of what was to come. There was nothing insinuating in his tone, nothing someone at a nearby table might take as a salacious overture. The implication of his offer was clear to her alone: he would join her shortly.

  The room upstairs was small, but clean and bright with whitewashed walls and white curtains at the window overlooking the harbour. The tiny room was dominated by a painted iron bedstead covered in a crisp blue and white counterpane. Other than the bed, the room’s only occupants were a washstand and a chair. Rosenwyn hung up her bonnet and coat on a peg. She poured water into the basin and washed her face, took off her half-boots and debated the merits of taking off anything else. Perhaps Cade would like to do that for her? The very thought of being undressed by him, of feeling his long, exquisite fingers on her skin
made her shiver in wicked anticipation.

  She would like to undress him. She’d start with his cravat, then his jacket. She leaned back against the pillows with a smile. This would be no mercenary wedding night where the bride cowered in a chemise beneath the blankets waiting for the bridegroom to cover her in a perfunctory two-minute ordeal. This was to be lovemaking in the afternoon, a lingering, sensual discovery between two curious and consenting adults. Neither of whom were squeamish virgins. They needn’t hurry. They had hours.

  A soft rap on the door announced Cade’s arrival. He slipped inside and gave a quizzing smile at the sight of her fully clothed. ‘Should I come back?’

  Rosenwyn got up from the bed and came to him, hands plucking out his cravat pin and slowly unwinding the length of white cloth from about his neck. ‘No, you’re just in time.’ She gave him a flirty glance, laying aside the pin with the cloth.

  ‘Hmm. In time for what?’ He played along, letting her help him out of his jacket.

  ‘For me to undress you.’ She worked the buttons of his waistcoat open and then carefully unclipped his watch fob. Rosenwyn pulled his shirttails free of his trouser band and stepped back to admire her work. It was good work, too. ‘I like you like this, a little rumpled. You look like a medieval prince who’s just come in from swordplay.’

  He laughed. ‘You have a fantastical imagination.’ He closed the distance between them and grabbed her about the waist, dragging her close for a kiss.

  ‘No, no, no!’ She pushed at him playfully. ‘I am nowhere near done undressing you.’ There were cuffs to unfasten and boots to pull off, and then at last she could apply herself to stripping him out of his shirt and trousers. She was a little breathless herself as she divested him of his shirt. Caught up in her own game meant to tease him, she’d ended up teasing herself as well.

  Rosenwyn ran her hands up his bare chest, skimming the muscled leanness of him as she discovered him, learned him, all his ridges and planes. She murmured in appreciation, drawing a fingernail across the flat of his nipple as he sucked in his breath. ‘You like that.’ It was a statement, not a question. She was filing the information away for another time when it might be useful.

  ‘Breeches next, I think.’ Her bold hand reached for him, moulding him through his trousers while she teased him with a smile.

  ‘You are a vixen of the first water,’ Cade growled, attempting to steal a kiss. ‘The moment those trousers are off, it’s your turn, minx. Don’t think I’ll make it easy on you.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to look my fill first.’ She laughed and worked open his breeches. Stripping him was erotic, fun. Being in charge had done wonders for settling her nerves or maybe it was the man himself who’d settled them. Being with Cade was easy, comfortable. She pushed his breeches down past lean hips and long thighs, and despite his teasing threats to the contrary, he let her look, let her admire; all of him was unabashedly on display for her. In her admiration, she stepped backwards, knees hitting the bed, and she sat down hard, never once letting her gaze waver. Who knew when she would get to look on such masculine beauty again? Skin like the smoothest alabaster, without a scar, lean strong thighs that framed a large shaft standing at the ready. Those attributes combined with the dramatic angles of his face made him a sculptor’s dream, her dream.

  He came towards her then, all swagger and a wicked light in his blue eyes. ‘I take it I pass muster.’ He kissed her, covering her with his body until she was pressed back to the bed, her wrists shackled with his hands.

  ‘More than pass.’ She was breathless with excitement, with want. They were still teasing, still playing, but there was an edge to that play now that he was revealed in full, a reminder that he was a potent, virile man. The composer, the genius, was set aside, replaced by this intoxicating male. Did his former lovers understand that? In the bedroom he wanted to be loved for himself, not for his talents?

  ‘Now, let us see to you, my dear.’ Cade made short work of her clothes, her undressing taking a different pace than his, and served a different purpose. The quality of their play shifted from foreplay to the mid-game that presaged consummation. Their play was no longer about preparing for passion, but initiating passion’s first overtures. He saved her stockings for last, rolling them down bended knees only to reverse the route with his hands moments later, running them up her calves, her thighs, spreading her apart as he came until she was intimately exposed to him.

  She closed her eyes, buried her hands in the depths of the bedcovers, ready for his hand, ready for his touch. She knew what this would feel like, the pleasure it would bring. But it was not his hand that touched her, but his mouth, his tongue and, despite her bracing, she gasped her surprise, her eyes flying open. He chuckled, the warmth of his breath feathering her curls. ‘You like that.’ He borrowed her words. ‘I’ll make a note of it.’

  ‘Not too many notes just now, I hope?’ She nudged him with her leg, encouraging him to go on. Was there anything more erotic than Cade’s blue eyes looking up at her from the cradle of her thighs? It was enough to make a girl swoon, but then she’d miss what might very well be one of the best experiences of her life. Rosenwyn had no intention of missing this. She laid back against the pillows and sighed as Cade ran his tongue along the seam of her entrance, up to the nest where her nub lay hidden like a secret treasure, then he licked and teased until the nub throbbed, sending tingling pulses of life shooting from its core. The pleasure wrought by his hand paled in comparison to the pleasure he was extracting now with his tongue and she gave herself over to it, letting it push her towards completion until at last she was there, reeling on pleasure’s edge, reaching out and claiming it, bucking hard against Cade lest she be denied any moment of it.

  Exquisite. That was the word for it, she thought as awareness returned to her. Cade lay beside her, his blond head propped in his hand, watching her recover, his blue eyes tender in their regard. Never had there been anything like this between her and Dashiell; not in the giving of the pleasure or the aftermath. No. She would not think about that. She would not compare, but how could she not? She might have technical experience, but she was in uncharted waters now. She hadn’t known such a thing was possible or that people did such things to one another, derived such pleasure from it. And they weren’t even done. There was the joining yet, the end game, and she could hardly wait.

  ‘Cade,’ she whispered his name, rolling to her side to face him. ‘It’s time for your pleasure now. Our pleasure. I think this has been one-sided long enough.’ Then she made her move.

  * * *

  Good Lord, she was straddling him! She intended to ride him astride and Cade found the prospect entirely compelling. Oh, to hell with delicate words, he found it entirely erotic, the sexiest thing a woman had done to him for a long time. Perhaps that was because Rosenwyn was the one doing it. She was a copper-haired Godiva atop him, the long skeins of burnished copper covering her breasts, framing her face while her green eyes burned and her pink mouth smiled like the vixen she was. She rose up and levered herself over him, teasing the tip of him with the merest of contact at her entrance. It seemed to him that his phallus actually strained upwards in its efforts to reach her. He groaned. ‘Rose, show mercy.’

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. ‘Mercy is granted. All you had to do was ask.’ She slid down on him then, taking him inside, struggling at the end to take all of him.

  He framed her hips with his hands. ‘Rise up a bit, love, and come down again,’ he murmured. Ah, that was good. He loved that, loved sheathing and re-sheathing himself in her and her body loved it, too. He felt the residual tightness in her fade, felt her body accommodating him until the fit was perfect. Then came the rhythm—back and forth she moved on him, tossing her hair behind her shoulders, her breasts bared now for him, for his eyes, for his hands. He cupped them, lifting them with his palms, thumbing the pink peaks of her nipples until they were as erect as the rest
of him and she moaned, losing herself both in the pleasure she gave and the pleasure she received.

  Cade felt his body gather and tighten in the primal sign of impending release. He was about to spend. He would never withdraw in time with her on top. He reached for her, pulling her to him, her breasts pressed to his chest, and rolled. Her jade eyes flashed up at him in surprise, her words lost in a gasp as he thrust once, twice, three times as pleasure took her. Only then did he leave her, making a gentleman’s finish in the sheets, but by all the saints, what a ride it had been, right up until the end, both of them panting. It had been safe, too. He knew his responsibility. He was not a rutting stag of a man who’d risk getting a woman with child.

  He pulled her into his arms, snuggling her against him as he steadied his breathing. The intensity of their coupling had stunned him. He’d not expected such a visceral response, but truly it had shaken him completely, taken him unawares with its depth, drained him completely and, in its place, left him with a sense of drowsy peace. When was the last time lovemaking had left him too boneless to move, to reach over the side of the bed for his breeches and leave? Had there ever even been such a time?

  * * *

  He must have dozed, something he was usually careful not to do. When he awoke, Rose had moved. She was no longer snuggled against him, but propped on her side, drawing delicate designs on his chest. ‘How long have you been staring at me?’ Cade ventured good-naturedly. In truth, the male in him was pleased with the idea that his body appealed to her.

  ‘Not long.’ She smiled. ‘Although I think I could look at you for hours and never tire of it.’

  He drew her to him, wanting her back where she belonged, nestled against him, her head tucked at his shoulder. ‘That might be a waste of our time.’ He chuckled, but it did prompt a serious concern. The sands in the hourglass were running out. The scores would be ready and they would have to go home. Tomorrow was Rose Sunday, the third Sunday in Advent. They would be busy with other things, other people. Tomorrow, everything would change. With his other lovers, it would have provided a convenient means of backing away from the affair. With Rose, he simply wasn’t ready. If one didn’t count today, there were nine days until Christmas Eve. He wanted each one of them with her. ‘Rose, will you play for me?’