Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  How utterly delightful she looked, and he did not miss the guilty flush on her cheeks. Yet he was not angry. Befuddlingly he was…enchanted. Mystifying indeed. His very understanding of himself and his wants and needs were rattled. He walked over to the fire, never taking his eyes from her. He shrugged from his wet jacket and removed his waistcoat, then also removed his boots, which felt waterlogged.

  Her lips parted, and she bit her bottom lip, a nervous gesture, but one that set his heart to pounding. He noted the sprigs of mistletoe and berries hanging from the roof by long pieces of ribbons. She had clearly hoped her mother would be ravished, and Graham knew if his father had ended up here with Lady Danby, exactly what Miss Middleton hoped for would have happened.

  The scheming minx, he thought a bit too fondly.

  “You do realize no matter where you are in this cottage, you will be under a mistletoe,” he murmured wickedly.

  A becoming flush crept up her slender neck, pinkening her fair cheeks. She grasped something from the mantle, and he noted it was a deck of cards.

  “How thoughtful of you to provide some entertainment beyond debauchery,” he mocked.

  “That was never my intention.”

  “Your delightful nose warned you of rain, and you ruthlessly conspired to have two people alone so far away from the estate trapped here. No one will come looking since this squall seems like it will last a very long time, and everyone should be too busy with the planned entertainment to worry about any missing party members. Well played, Miss Middleton, well played.” He spread his hands wide. “Except it is me you’ve got here, and I wonder if I should fear for my virtue. You are an odd and improper sort of lady, I cannot fathom your intention.”

  She folded her hands about her middle, canted her head, and stared at him. Though she tried to appear nonchalant, her eyes danced with mirth. “I never expected us to end up here, Viscount Sherbrooke.”

  “Nonsense! You should have convinced me more about the wonders of your twitching nose. Now for the next few hours, I shall live in fear of ravishment.”

  She giggled, and the sweetness of the sound burrowed into his heart and filled him with a peculiar but very welcoming warmth.

  “You need not fear debauchery from me, Viscount Sherbrooke, I promise your virtue will be intact when we leave here. I will conduct myself most admirably!”

  Something inside him awakened, a terrible need he’d never felt before, and how much he wanted to take her into his arms. A few kisses, perhaps, but it would be most difficult to prevent himself from doing more…and there was no understanding between them. Perplexingly he found himself wanting to make promises. He governed his needs, for he was not rash in his behavior but planned meticulously. She inspired his heart to be reckless! “Ah…pity that, however, I shall practice gentlemanly restraint.”

  Her very red, sweetly curved lips formed an ‘O.’

  “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?” he asked provocatively, shifting a bit closer to her.

  She blushed, wrinkled her nose before gracing him with another pretty smile. “Perhaps we could read or play cards…or just talk. I am frightfully curious about you.”

  It was then he noted a few leather-bound volumes atop the mantle. It seemed she had planned for their parents to be entertained in a non-lustful manner. How innocent. “I am curious about you as well.”

  She sent him a saucy wink. “Mutually assured madness is always welcome.”

  Bloody hell, he was charmed.

  “We’ve been neighbors for a while but have hardly crossed paths.” This bit she admitted shyly.

  “I do not live here at Holliwell Manor. I recently bought my own townhouse and country estate with some investments, which gave me handsome returns.”

  “Those properties are not entailed to the earldom?”

  “No, I must plan for the eventuality of having more than one child. I would like to afford my daughters or second son with more opportunities than the army or the clergy.”

  Mischief danced in her eyes. “Oh, la-la! So, you do plan to marry.”

  “Eventually. I know my duty.”

  “But not to a woman you love?” she asked archly.

  “It is not a requirement for marriage.”

  “I daresay it should be! Can you imagine spending the rest of your life with a woman you barely liked? Though I wish to marry and have my own home, I would be mortified to marry a gentleman I did not esteem.”

  No, he could not imagine a cold union without affections. They sat before the small table, and he poured wine in two glasses. She took the drink he handed to her and sipped appreciatively.

  “So you wish to marry,” he murmured.

  “I daresay I do!”

  “Then, why are you still unwedded?”

  She hesitated briefly, taking several sips of her wine as if to gather her thoughts. Callisto lowered the glass, and he grabbed the carafe and topped it up.

  “I suppose no gentleman of the ton is interested in a young lady with little connections and no money. It would take a rare man to look beyond such deficiencies, and where would I find such a man? Certainly not here in Gloucestershire. I’ve been slowly losing my faith that love is all that is required, and must perhaps accept I am destined to remain a spinster!”

  She seemed embarrassed by her frankness and took a few hurried gulps of her wine.

  “And what is your ideal of the perfect partner?” he asked, lazily sipping his wine, keenly watching each shift of her lively expressions.

  “That he loves me.”

  Incredulity rushed through him. “That is it? Not that your beau possesses enough wealth to keep you in pretty dresses and fancy carriages. A townhouse in London, fashionable balls and routs, and a few country homes here and there? My dear, Callisto, love cannot provide for you and any children you might have! You have to be more practical than romantic when hoping for a suitor.”

  She had the gall to roll her eyes. “Of course, I wish to be comfortable, and my husband to be able to provide for his family! But I would prefer to wed a man who clearly loves me with every emotion in his heart than a duke who can lavish me with clothes, homes, and diamonds but does not love me!”

  She rested her elbows on the table and rested, her chin on her palm. “Of course, the ideal partner could love me and be rich!” Then she winked at him. “A man such as yourself, but you must be persuaded that sentiments between lovers are as necessary as breathing air!”

  Graham laughed, delighted with her. “And how would you convince me of this?”

  An unexpected silence fell between them, and her gaze lingered on his lips for shocking moments.

  “With kisses perhaps,” she whispered, a crooked smile curving her lips. “You were my very first, and I daresay it was beyond wonderful.” Callisto lowered her gaze and blatantly pretended to be intrigued by the array of cakes and gingerbread on the platter. Except the tip of her ears and her cheeks burned a bright red.

  Everything inside of Graham collapsed. And I feel like I want to be your last. Yet he did not say it, but plucked one of the titles she had selected, opened the pages and began to read. With a happy sigh, she placed both elbows on the table and popped a piece of gingerbread in her mouth, thoroughly immersed in the story he narrated. At times she gasped and held her breath as if she were the one reading. Knowing he had such a captivatingly rapt audience, Graham did something he’d never done before—changed his voice to reflect each character.

  This brought such laughter from her, and it rang merrily in the cottage.

  “Good heavens,” she said, still chuckling. “I know no female who speaks with such a high squeal. I am affronted on behalf of my sex!”

  Never had he felt contentment equal to the sensations blossoming through his heart. They ate, read, and laughed. Of course, she gobbled the cakes and gingerbread as she did everything—with zest and her entire heart.

  They argued about the last piece of cake which they shared. He told her of the motions he assiste
d his father in writing for Parliament, the countless hours of research and preparation it took, and sometimes the worry he felt about whether he would acquit himself honorably to the earldom when he inherited.

  ‘Of course, you will!’ She had reassured him so ardently. ‘I can see your mettle…it is one of strength and honor,’

  What did he like—horses, restoring a truly beautiful home, especially if it retains signs of its Tudor architecture, and reading.

  How happy that had made her for they now had a common interest.

  What did she like—reading and dancing. Though she had never danced the waltz despite having learned the steps and form from her papa! During her first and only Season in London, her father had fallen ill, and she had returned to Suffolk, where they had resided at the time. After the mourning period had been observed, along with her mother and sister they had to leave their beloved homes so a distant cousin could inherit. There had been no money or time for another Season, as they had directed their efforts on keeping their heads above water without losing their reputations.

  As she recounted the tale candidly, Callisto hadn’t seemed to resent her situation but appeared as a woman who understood life at times threw brutal punches, and it was the character of the person that determined if they stayed on the ground or sprung back up with lively purpose.

  His admiration for her grew then, and how natural it had felt to lower the book, walk around to her chair, dip into a bow, hold out his hand, and say, “Might I have your hand for a dance, Miss Middleton.”

  With a wide smile on her lips and merriment glowing from her lovely eyes, she nodded. Now she was in his arms, and the intent way she peered up at him evoked confusing feelings inside him. He wanted to ravish and protect her in equal measures. The duality of those needs clashed painfully inside of him. I’ve never felt this way about a lady before, he wanted to confess. But it felt premature to do so. What if this warm sensation did not last but faded like ashes in the wind once he was apart from her?

  “Sadly, there is no music,” he said.

  “The rain and thunder will do.”

  A quick ripple of laughter escaped her as he spun her in a twirl, humming the tune for them.

  “Oh, Graham, this is simply wonderful!”

  The sound of his name on her lips did marvelous things to his heart. It flipped several times as if it too danced.

  “We are standing below mistletoe berries,” he said, bring them to a stop in the center of the small room.

  “I fear the servants went a bit overboard in their enthusiasm. We cannot escape them, it seems.”

  He skimmed his fingers over her cheek, almost tentative in his exploration. Then he gave in to the clamor in his heart, lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips.

  Chapter 7

  Graham’s kiss was light, tender, sweet, and her heart tumbled over inside her chest. “What was that for?” she whispered.

  “There are mistletoe sprigs all over this cabin,” he replied with gentle amusement. “Wasn’t this the idea when you had them placed?” He possessed such a confident presence that appealed to her vastly.

  Callie blushed but held his stare. “They were meant for your father, …and my mother.”

  “Then let’s move away.”

  He twirled her off in another direction and then glanced up. “Alas, another one.”

  This time he pressed a kiss atop her nose, and she laughed lightly, dizzy with the heat pouring through her. The rain sleeted down and rattled the door and the small window of the cottage, but she felt frightfully warm. The last two hours with him in the cabin had revealed a charming and simply wonderfully good-natured gentleman that made her yearn for impossible dreams.

  He spun with her again, and when he paused, they both looked up.

  “Yet more mistletoe,” she said with a wide smile, but how her heart pounded.

  “Did you know it is widely believed that it was the Norsemen and women who first romanticized mistletoe?”

  “I did not know that,” she said tenderly. “But I knew the Celtic druids used it for vitality and fertility.”

  “Hmm.” His fingers brushed against the fluttering pulse at her throat, lingering there too long to be an accident. “In Norse mythology, when Odin’s son Baldur was prophesied to die, his mother Frigg—the goddess of love—went to all the animals and plants of the earth to secure an oath that they would not harm her son. But Frigg neglected to consult with the unassuming mistletoe, so the scheming Loki made an arrow from the plant and saw that it was used to kill the otherwise invincible Baldur. The gods were able to resurrect Baldur from the dead to his mother’s delight. The goddess of love then declared mistletoe a symbol of love and vowed to plant a kiss on all those who passed beneath it. That folklore evolved where we fine gentlemen are encouraged to steal a kiss from any woman caught standing under the mistletoe, and refusing is viewed as bad luck!”

  He touched her elbow lightly, urging her to him, yet his clasp felt gentle and protective.

  Callie was amazed at the thrill he gave her. “I would hate to deny you and endure any misfortune,” she teased.

  His dark eyebrows arched mischievously. “How you delight my heart just now.”

  He lifted her chin with a finger. Whenever his blue gaze met hers, her heart turned over in response. Callie’s whole being seemed to be filled with waiting. His thumb swiped over her lips. The caress was a command. And she parted her lips.

  His head reached down, and Graham kissed her mouth more persuasively than she would have liked to admit. Wicked heat darted through her wanton heart, and she slipped her hands around his neck and held him to her. He tasted like a summer storm, he tasted like happiness…and ruin. They spoke of no sentiments, nor had he made any promises, yet Callie was helpless against the desires sweeping through her body.

  I am four and twenty…when ever am I going to feel like this in someone’s arms.

  He made love to her mouth, stroking her tongue with his. Their kiss was hot, wild, and wet. Oh, God. It was as if she was another person. Excitement hummed in her veins, and she felt as if everything that’d been wrong and uncertain had righted itself.

  How was this possible? He stole the rest of her thoughts with his drugging kisses, and she moaned as arousal stirred in her blood.

  His lips searched a path down her neck, her shoulders, and to the top of the lace that protected her breasts from his ravishment. Graham recaptured her lips, more demanding this time, and she responded with a flaming passion. She distantly became aware he removed her clothes, and they fell away from her body. Her dress, chemise, laces, and corset were removed with kisses in between. Then she was in his arms being carried over to the small bed flush against the corner wall away from the fire. It was a bit darker there, but she could see the possessive glint in his beautiful eyes, the raw hunger surrounding her like a caged storm waiting to be unleashed.

  And she was not afraid. She wanted this to fill all the places that had hungered for so many things but had remained unfulfilled. He bore her down on the bed, then moved away to remove the rest of his clothing and stockings. Then he was gloriously naked.

  Callie gasped, gripping the sheets beneath her and staring at him in wonder. His body was lean but corded with such beautiful muscles. That part of him that jutted proudly to her appeared flushed and thick. Yet instead of being afraid, her body jolted, and her legs fell apart without any urgings from him. He moved closer to the bed, staring down at her naked form. She blushed and fought the urge to drag the sheet over her.

  She very much liked the awe and need on his face.

  “You are beautifully made,” he said softly.

  The bed dipped as he came over her. Her heart fluttered, and her body felt tight and heated. As if with a mere touch, she would disintegrate. He kissed the tip of her nose, then her eyes, and finally her mouth with savage intensity for breath-taking moments.

  He released her mouth to press a kiss to her forehead. Her lips burned in
the aftermath of his fiery possession. Her lover’s kisses lingered all over her blushing body. Her breasts surged at the intimacy of his caressing touch, and she moaned when his mouth closed over her nipple.

  It was as if lightning struck her low in her belly. The sensations were hot and overwhelming. His hand seared a path over her quivering stomach down to her thighs. Then he was there, right where she ached the most. He rubbed her, and she almost fainted. She gripped his shoulders, her nails pressing deeply into the muscles there as she held on for dear life. His fingers began a lust-arousing exploration of her soft, wet flesh. Callie gasped, and she trembled at that diabolical caress.

  She had never imagined anything could feel this wonderful. A long finger slipped deep inside her feminine channel. A soft moan turned into a sob of raw need. It never occurred to restrain her responses or pretend demureness. Everything was simply too much for any form of modest indifference to his wicked lovemaking to rear its head.

  She lay panting, chest heaving, desperate to process all the pleasures wreaking havoc through her body. His shifted slightly, bracing himself on one elbow so he could look at where his fingers were buried in her sex. Then he slipped another finger into the tightness of her body.

  “Open for me, my sweet,” he murmured roughly.

  She fisted the sheets and parted her legs more. His grunt of satisfaction said that was exactly what he needed. And somehow, his fingers went even deeper, for she now felt a pinch of pain mingling with the awful pleasure.

  Oh! It felt so naughty that he watched as he worked his fingers inside her sex, witnessed the shaking of her thighs, and those instinctive rises of her hips. Irresistibly her gaze went below his bent head…watching too as his fingers thrust and withdrew, building a fever of need right where he touched. It tightened in her belly, so hot and uncomfortable, desperate and straining.

  Another little sob came from her throat, and she gripped the sheets tighter. “Graham,” she gasped as his thumb glided over her nub of pleasure. The friction had her arching her hips more into his questing caress.