More than he could have hoped for.
All he had ever wanted.
Peace settled over his heart. He kissed her ear, love surging inside him, every bit as forceful as the desire. “Are you ready?”
Of course she was ready.
And she would tell him.
Just as soon as she could speak.
For now, all she could do was clutch his big body to hers, her fingers biting into his shoulders. He licked behind her ear, then caught her earlobe in his teeth, delivering a tug she felt between her thighs.
Even after the pleasure he had visited upon her, she still ached. She still wanted more.
And so she forced herself to find the words. “I am ready, Merrick. Make me yours.”
He growled, the sound primitive and deep and dangerous all at once. And filled with promise. So much promise.
When he settled himself between her thighs, she opened for him, and it felt natural. Wonderful. Nothing had ever felt more right. His manhood was large and thick and long, and he settled it against her now, running the tip between her folds in a sensual rhythm that made her move her hips restlessly.
She wanted more.
“Are you sure, darling?” he asked, his voice sounding strained.
“Yes,” she said, breathless.
“There will be pain the first time,” he warned, working his shaft over the most sensitive part of her.
She gasped. “I have been told.”
Lady Emilia had explained the wedding night to her. Not without flushing and stammering and making Bea wish for the talk to end to put them both out of their misery, but it had been done.
She knew what to expect.
She also knew she wanted Merrick more than she wanted her next breath.
“Bea, I do not want to hurt you,” he said, still teasing her with his length.
She kissed the cords of his neck, the smooth ball of his shoulder, caressed his arms. “I want you inside me, Merrick.”
He bit out a curse. “Tell me to stop if the pain is too great. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Bea.”
“Now,” she ordered, kissing his chest.
He aligned himself at her entrance. She felt the tip of him, blunt and thick, and then he moved, sliding inside her. One shallow thrust, then another. She inhaled, then moved against him, bringing him deeper. Another thrust, and something inside her broke. She felt a pinch of pain, the breath hissing from her lungs.
He stilled. “Bea?”
“More,” was all she said.
“Hell and damnation.” He thrust again, seating himself deeper, and then again.
Until she was stretched and full, so full, of him. The pressure gave way to pleasure. His lips found hers. They kissed as his fingers dipped between them, working her already incredibly sensitive flesh. Somehow, he knew how fast to go, how hard. And then, he was moving once more, but this time, she was moving too. They were moving.
Together.
His tongue was in her mouth, and she tasted herself. She tasted the beauty of pleasure and life, the sweetness of their love, the possibilities of their future. They kissed and kissed, while their bodies became one. He stroked her as he moved inside her, until she found herself once more teetering on the precipice.
Control was beyond her.
She clenched on him violently, pleasure fiercer than any he had given her before exploding. Bea could not stifle her cry as she reached her pinnacle. Merrick rocked against her, his body stiffening. On a low groan, he pumped into her, losing himself the same way she had. The warm wetness of his seed inside her set off a fresh wave of tremors.
Merrick broke their kiss at last, rolling off her and landing on his back at her side. She lay there, shattered, staring at the beautiful play of light and shadows upon the ceiling from the fire in the grate. Her breathing was ragged and harsh. At her side, so was Merrick’s.
He slid an arm around her and drew her nearer, before flipping the turned-down bedclothes over her. She reveled in this rare moment of complete closeness, their bodies aligned, the pleasure of his lovemaking filling her with a sated warmth unlike anything she had ever known.
It had a name, this feeling inside her.
Bliss.
She settled her head upon his chest, directly over the steady thumping of his heart.
“Did I hurt you, Bea?” he asked, his voice tentative, almost strained.
She smiled, inhaling the beloved scent of him, settling her hand upon his taut stomach. “You could never hurt me.”
He kissed her crown. “Thank you for giving me the gifts of yourself and your love. I could never want for more.”
She stroked over his firm skin, relishing the barely leashed strength beneath. “I feel the same way, Merrick. You are everything to me, all I could ever want, and I am proud to call you my husband.”
“Proud?” he asked, sounding hesitant. “You could have done better than me, Bea. Far better. An earl, a duke—”
“I choose you,” she interrupted him. “And there is none better.”
She meant those words, how she meant them. Merrick had worked for everything he had, and purely on the merit of his own intelligence and determination. Other men may be lords. But Merrick Hart was all she had ever wanted, from the time she had first begun to understand the longing inside her. He was all she would ever want.
“What did I do to become so fortunate?” he asked softly.
“You happened upon a scandalous Winter wearing a bloody dress,” she teased, glancing up at him.
Their gazes met and held.
“I shall be thankful for it for all the days of my life. Merry Christmas, my love,” he told her, his fingers tenderly drifting through her hair.
She lifted her head from his chest and kissed him again. How could she not?
“Merry Christmas to you too, my beautiful man,” she said, her heart content.
About Scarlett Scott
Amazon bestselling author Scarlett Scott writes steamy Victorian and Regency romance with strong, intelligent heroines and sexy alpha heroes. She lives in Pennsylvania with her Canadian husband, adorable identical twins, and one TV-loving dog.
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Hell’s Wedding Bells
by Annabelle Anders
Chapter 1
Till Death
If only she’d been born a man.
Lady Lila Breton, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Quimbly, would have rather been almost anyone else on that sunny but cold December morning.
Or anywhere else, for that matter. She scrunched her nose in frustration.
She had long ago given up on running away from her father’s home, from his outbursts, his unreasonable expectations, and his outrageous demands. Although the idea presented itself from time to time, she just as quickly dismissed it. She had no money, no skills, and nowhere to go.
And besides, running away would require that she abandon her mother and her younger sister, Arianna.
She could not leave them alone to cope with Father’s madness.
“You should wear something pretty today, my lady.” Fran, her ladies’ maid for the past ten years, held up a silk rose-colored gown for Lila’s inspection. “It’s your wedding, after all. You ought to look pretty for your groom.”
“A groom I’ve never met and who cares nothing about me as a person. How much do you think my father is paying him?” This was her second betrothal, the first one having lasted for most of her life, only to come to an abrupt end when her prospective groom married another woman. From what she understood, the lady had been a homely bluestocking. Miss Emily Goodnight had married the Earl of Blakely, thwarting the betrothal that had been in place for as long as Lila could remember.
When the betrothal had ended, her father had moved them away
from the home they’d always known, away from the few friends she’d managed to make, and up to a distant estate near the Irish Sea that she’d barely known existed. Nearly as far north as one could go and not end up in Scotland. In fact, Gretna Green was not far off.
Her father had forbidden them from making the short journey into the nearby village of Burnbridge even once, keeping her and her sister from having any sort of social life whatsoever. They could not take part in any church gatherings, town assemblies, or ladies’ socials.
Nothing.
It was difficult not to think of herself as a prisoner.
Lila stared in the mirror, feeling none of the emotions a bride ought to be feeling. Her only excitement came from the fact that she would soon be free of her father.
Which presented her with a new set of worries.
She exhaled loudly.
Her prospective groom was the Duke of Pemberth. She would be a duchess, no less. She’d never heard of the dukedom until the night before when her father had informed her of their appointment today.
Not an appointment for the man to pay his addresses.
An appointment with a clergyman and two witnesses.
She’d been given no choice in the matter.
“Not the rose,” Lila answered, feeling frustrated and powerless. “The brown muslin.”
“Oh, my lady, not that one. I’ve mended it more times than I can count. It’s the most atrocious gown you own.”
“Precisely.”
Lila reached up and began pulling her hair into a tight and unimaginative chignon. It would emphasize the dark circles beneath her eyes. And yes, if she pinched her lips just so, she could appear even older than her six and twenty years.
Any man who transacted business with her father could not be much better himself. Honor was for the weak in her father’s mind. Money and status were all that mattered.
And beauty.
Fran made some disapproving noises but returned the rose gown to Lila’s wardrobe and then withdrew the brown one from an old trunk.
“Leave the wrinkles,” Lila ordered. “And I’ll wear the green shawl Mama made for me last Christmas.”
Utterly appropriate, with the holidays less than a month away. Her mother had used two colors of green: moss and bright parakeet.
Lila lifted her arms as Fran assisted her into the dress and studied herself in the looking glass. She smiled tightly. Oh, yes. This ensemble was most appropriate. She had no idea why a duke would deign to marry her. There must be a great deal of money involved. She’d do nothing to sweeten his bargain.
A knock sounded on the door, and her mother entered without waiting for permission.
“Oh, Lila.” She met Lila’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “He’s not going to be happy with you at all.”
He.
Her father.
Lila grimaced. She resembled her mother a great deal. Slim and with the same blue eyes, both stood barely over five feet tall, and, until the last few years, had shared the same color of hair. Glossy mahogany, as her mother liked to call it.
“He’ll have no reason to care one way or the other, presumably, after this morning.” If the duke does not cry off upon seeing me. And what if he went ahead with the marriage? A shiver of apprehension slid down Lila’s spine. What if he was old? What if he was very young? She’d imagined all sorts of horrifying scenarios while trying to sleep the night before.
His estate was located even farther north, yet remained in England. But instead of facing the Irish Sea, it was located on the opposite coast.
She wondered if the North Sea would bring her the same solace she found along the shores of Bryony Manor. Perhaps they all looked the same… water and sky.
If the duke did not call off, Lila would have to leave her mother and sister. But she would do everything within her power to convince her new husband to send for them. If not her mother, at least Arianna.
“Will Arianna be allowed to be present… for the ceremony?” Lila would feel only slightly better if her sister could be there.
But her mother was already shaking her head. “She’s not to miss her lessons.”
Lila had guessed as much.
“Fran. I’d like a moment alone with my daughter.”
Lila hadn’t expected her mother to attempt any sort of mother-daughter pre-wedding heart to heart. She met her maid’s gaze in the mirror and shrugged.
Fran finished fastening her gown from the back and then dropped the ghastly shawl around her shoulders. Her mother frowned in further disappointment but did not object as the maid took her leave.
“You don’t need to—” Lila would save her mother such embarrassment, but her mother raised one hand and then gestured for her to sit down in the high-backed velvet chair at the end of the bed.
Lila lowered herself in place, and her mother stood facing her, hands hidden in her deep skirt pockets.
“I know little of this Pemberth, whom your father has called here to marry you. But I’ve seen him.” Clamping her lips together tightly, she stared out the window for a moment, as though she’d forgotten she was even speaking.
“Mother?” Lila reached up and touched her mother’s hand.
Her mother blinked and then nodded slowly. “I want you to take this. Hide it with your jewels, and if you ever have need of subduing your husband, simply sprinkle this into his food.”
She withdrew one hand from her pocket and held out a velvet drawstring bag for Lila to take.
“What is it?” Lila took it, wondering if this was how her own mother had managed to survive her father all these years.
Her mother’s eyes seemed unfocused and then she blinked again. “A sleeping potion. Only use it if you fear him. Do you understand?”
She’d never seen her own father actually act out in violence toward another soul, her mother included, but she’d heard rumors that he’d committed atrocities. She did her best to imagine the rumor held little, if any, truth.
Her imagination never grew powerful enough to believe it.
Yes, she could understand her mother’s concern. Nodding, she took the little cloth bag from her mother and then stuffed it into the back of her valise.
She prayed she’d never need it.
Strangely, her mother took Lila by the shoulders and leaned forward, dropping a kiss on each cheek. “I love you, Lila. I want you to know that I’ve done my best for you and Arianna. Please, always remember that.”
Lila nodded. “Of course. It cannot have been easy for you.” And then she added, “I love you too, Mama.” But this wasn’t going to be goodbye forever. She’d make certain of it, no matter what she had to do to procure her husband’s cooperation.
“Best not to dawdle.” Her mother brushed at Lila’s sleeves and then tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “They await you downstairs.”
Feeling as though her limbs had suddenly gone numb, Lila nodded again.
She had no idea what she was walking into. If you are there, God, please let him be a decent man. He doesn’t need to be smart, or an appropriate age, or handsome even. She cared not one fig if he was charming and affable. All she could hope for was that he would be kind.
What was the chance of that?
Fear sent ice coursing through her veins as she followed her mother downstairs. Perhaps it would be best if he took one look at her and changed his mind.
Because as horrible as her present circumstances were, better the devil you know than the one that you don’t.
She caught sight of herself in a large mirror in the foyer.
The gown was delightfully wrinkled. And the bright green yarn of the shawl made her skin appear almost yellow.
Stunning.
Vincent Saint-Pierre, the Duke of Pemberth, would rather be anywhere but Lord Quimbly’s library that morning.
Since his older brother Keenan’s untimely death three months ago, Vincent’s life had been irrevocably altered. Death. His heart curdled inside at the word. Suicide. He would
not ignore the truth.
After driving the dukedom deeply into debt and then gambling away anything left of value, Keenan had not even had the decency to remain on this earth to face the consequences of his actions.
No, he’d left that for Vincent.
A penniless dukedom, a broken-down estate, and now this.
The promise to marry Quimbly’s daughter sight unseen.
His brother’s vowels had not died with him. No, they, too, had been bequeathed to Vincent.
He’d like to hate his brother for it, if only he hadn’t loved the benighted fool.
A noise at the door had him turning in some curiosity. The older woman, he presumed to be the countess. She was followed by a timid-looking creature wearing a color that offended his eyes. Good God.
Beneath the hideous garments appeared to be a shapeless form, part of the hem dragging behind her as she shuffled into the room, head ducked meekly.
He barely contained a groan.
But of course, his brother had saddled him with an antidote. Not that it mattered, he supposed. He’d likely be too busy working his own land to seek any satisfaction with her.
Although he’d require an heir.
Vincent made no comment, choosing instead to bow toward the countess.
Lord Quimbly wasn’t so considerate. “Good God, Lila. It isn’t going to work. Step over here, this instant.”
It was her—his betrothed—Lady Lila. The name hinted at a feminine beauty he’d not seen so far.
She hesitated only an instant before doing as the earl bid.
Before she made it halfway across the room, however, her father had stepped forward to tug at the shawl before then tearing it off of her shoulders. She nearly lost her balance at the violence of his gesture.
“Now, here.” Vincent stepped forward. “That’s not necessary.”
“I know my daughter, Pemberth. She’s doing this on purpose.” And with his other hand, his fingers delved into the back of her head. The girl covered her face with her hands while Quimbly, her father, dragged out a few pins, releasing the twisted mane to tumble down her back to just past her waist.
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