Ben stifled a chuckle as he opened his door, relieved that the bed was made and a lamp had been lit. A fire had been set in the fireplace, so the room was warm.
The deep navy velvet and gold fabrics that made up the counterpane, drapes, and upholstery on the chairs had been part of the house when he moved in, and he hadn’t given a thought to changing anything.
“It’s very masculine,” Angelica remarked, a hand sweeping over the counterpane and then up one of the posters.
Imagining that same hand sweeping over his torso had Ben eliciting a sound of frustration. “The mistress suite is just through there,” he said, motioning to the dressing room door. “But I rather doubt any of the lamps are lit.”
He watched as Angelica disappeared into the dressing room. When she didn’t come out, he made his way in. No lamps were lit in the dressing room, of course, but in the dim light from his room, he could see the door to the mistress suite was open.
“Angel?” he called out in a hoarse whisper.
“Here,” she whispered. She stood at one of the windows, the light from the crescent moon bathing her in an ethereal glow. She looked like an angel without wings.
Ben joined her, his fingertips trailing along her bare shoulder blades until she shivered and stepped into his hold. The bedchamber was chilly—the fireplace probably hadn’t had a fire set in it since the baron lived there. “If I told you I had no intention of returning you to Worthington House this evening—”
“I should hope not. I’ve no intention of getting dressed again after being ruined,” she said in a whisper.
Ben blinked at hearing her response. “Very well. Let me at least see to a fire.” He moved to the fireplace, heartened to find some kindling and logs already in place. Striking a fuzee, he soon had the kindling lit, and a golden glow joined the moonlight.
Undressing one another as best they could—Ben had to see to his boots while Angelica turned down the bed—they were soon panting with anticipation. Wearing only her chemise, Angelica knew the transparent silk garment did nothing to hide her erect nipples nor her mons. Ben’s gaze lingered on both, and she struggled to keep from wrapping her arms around her middle in an attempt at modesty.
“Do you want me to take the pins from your hair?”
Angelica considered how many Banks had used in the elaborate hairstyle and gave a shake of her head. “You’ll be at it for over an hour.”
He nodded. “Good. Because I wouldn’t know where to begin.” He reached for her while she regarded him—all of him—with a sigh of relief. He was trim, with no sign of a belly, and his shoulders were broad and straight. As was his cock, which was clearly aimed in her direction.
“You’re not frightened of me, I hope. Of it,” he added as he waved at his bobbing member.
“No. I feared you were... old. All saggy and—”
“Old?” he repeated in mock alarm. “I am only five-and-thirty,” he added, taking her into his arms and pulling her until her body was completely pressed against his. His cock settled against the silk of her chemise and pressed into her soft belly. Likewise, the mounds of her breasts pressed into his torso, and he groaned in satisfaction.
“You do not look like you are five-and-thirty,” she whispered. She inhaled sharply when one of his hands covered one of her breasts and gently kneaded it through the silk. Her nipple, already puckered, hardened beneath his ministrations. Her thighs, which had begun to tremble, felt damp where they met at the top. An insistent throbbing had just begun there, demanding something be done.
“Nor do I feel like it,” he whispered, his lips nipping the space between her neck and shoulder. His tongue trailed up to her earlobe, and his teeth nibbled the soft flesh. He thrilled at hearing her soft inhalation of breath. He had been convinced she would change her mind about this. Insist they instead wait until their wedding day. But her devotion to duty seemed relentless.
“I find I really need to lie down...” She let out a squeak when she was suddenly lifted into his arms and then lowered onto the bed. He followed her down, his hands sliding up the sides of the soft chemise to expose her breasts and belly. A giggle erupted when his lips began trailing down the front of her body.
“Wait. What do I do?” she asked, between gasps for breath.
Ben allowed a chuckle as he slid a hand beneath one of her knees and lifted it. “Nothing, my sweet Angel.” He did the same with her other knee. “But, please, whatever you do, don’t stop me.” And then his hands slipped beneath the globes of her bottom, and his head dropped down between her thighs.
Angelica inhaled sharply. Stop him? Why ever would she do such a thing? His tongue had found the source of the insistent throbbing, and although whatever he was doing was only making it worse, she didn’t mind. Not one bit. Especially when it flicked across that very spot at exactly the perfect angle. At exactly the right moment.
Her cry of relief and subsequent sob had Ben slowing his ministrations but moving one hand so his fingertips barely touched her belly as he stroked it. He could feel how her body jerked with each spasm of pleasure, feel the waves as they crested beneath her flesh.
His own cock, hardened and dripping with need, demanded surcease. Although he didn’t wish to hurt her, he knew this one time might be painful. To bury his rod into her while she was still in the throes of her pleasure would surely be better than waiting any longer.
He didn’t do it quickly, nor did he warn her. He simply impaled her slowly as he slid a hand beneath a thigh and lifted. About to lift the other, he found he didn’t need to—she had already wrapped her legs around his back. Then she stripped the chemise from her body and moved her hands to his shoulders.
Pulling out just a bit, he held his breath before he thrust himself into her.
Surely this was heaven. There could be no other word to describe the sight of his satiated betrothed, her skin warm and rosy, her nipples taut. There could be no other word to describe the feel of her tight cocoon as his manhood filled it.
She met his second trust, a move so surprising he thought perhaps she had done this before. But her whispered, “Am I doing this right?” had him kissing her open mouth before he managed an, “Oh, yes, my love.”
Her hands slipped down to his sides, and her fingers gripped his back. Her nails created half-moons in his flesh as he thrust into her again and again.
His release, intense and powerful and oh, so pleasurable, had him growling and ceasing his movements all at once. Angelica, unsure of what to do, tightened her hold on him as a wash of warmth filled her lower body. Then she watched as he slowly fell down onto her, as if his arms no longer had the strength to hold him up. His head ended up in the space between her shoulder and neck.
Angelica moved a hand to rest on the back of his head, her fingers stroking his silken hair as she felt his labored breaths against her neck. She allowed a sigh of contentment and then kissed him on the forehead.
“My Angel,” he murmured, his eyes still closed.
Grinning, Angelica whispered, “My knight in shining moonlight.” Indeed, his entire back was bathed in the glow of the moon through the window.
Sleep took them both. Cold woke them long enough to pull up the bedcovers. When they were once again snuggled up against one another, Angelica’s head in the small of his shoulder and one leg resting between his, they whispered their plans for the wedding and finally returned to slumber.
As promised, Ben returned Angelica to Worthington House by way of the back door, early dawn not quite lighting the eastern sky. Their parting kiss was interrupted by the scullery maid.
“Mornin’, my lady,” she said as she dipped a curtsy, her gaze going from them to the sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway.
“Good morning,” Angelica replied with a smile. “We’ve been studying heavenly bodies all night. Sir Benjamin has the most amazing telescope in his observatory.”
“Vera good, milady.” The confused maid dipped another curtsy and quickly made her way to the kitchens
as Ben struggled to maintain an impassive expression. “Are you always able to fib so easily?” he asked.
Angelica blinked. “But, everything I told her was true,” she murmured.
Ben chuckled and kissed her again. “I have letters to write.”
“As do I,” she agreed. “But I must have breakfast first.” She gave him another kiss before she said her farewell. “Perhaps we can look at the moon later?”
Angling his head so he could gaze at the sky above, he allowed a shrug. “If it’s clear. And if it’s not... well, I’m sure we can find a heavenly body to study.”
Epilogue
A Winter Wedding
A fortnight later
Milton, Earl of Torrington, and his countess, Adele, stood at the front of St. George’s and watched as their daughter said her vows. Their son, George, had joined them, as had his betrothed, Lady Anne.
“He is a rather handsome man,” Adele whispered to her husband. “Were you his godfather?”
“Were?” Milton replied with a smirk. “I still am. And he’s the last.”
“The last?” Adele repeated in confusion.
“The last godson to get married. I was beginning to think he would never take a wife. Once I found out why, it was easy enough to offer a solution that worked for everyone involved.”
Adele furrowed a brow. “So you’re the reason our daughter is marrying a lowly knight?” she asked, obviously suspicious.
Milton’s eyes darted to one side before he leaned sideways and said, “Not me. Her dowry. And the fact that their firstborn son will be an earl.”
“You bounder!” his countess accused in a hoarse whisper. She took a deep breath in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, at least until after the vows were complete. “I suppose she might end up a countess,” she added after a moment.
“That’s the plan,” Milton murmured, a brilliant smile appearing when the couple completed their vows.
Across the aisle, Benedict, Earl of Wadsworth, offered his mother, Charity, Viscountess Lancaster, his handkerchief as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I thought you’d be happy to gain another daughter,” Benedict whispered. She had only the one, Hope, from her second marriage to Marcus Lancaster.
“Oh, I am. I just never imagined she would be an angel,” Charity replied, attempting to suppress a sob.
Angelica’s gown, the white dinner gown Ben had insisted she wear for their wedding, had been altered to include a train. She carried a bouquet of red roses and mistletoe, a secret nod to their first kisses. A ring of red rose buds circled the pile of curls atop her head. When the light showed through the curls, it made them look like a halo.
Wearing a white muslin shirt, white silk cravat, and a black cutaway coat, Ben looked as if he might have already inherited the Wadsworth earldom. His red waistcoat, embroidered in what he later admitted were depictions of the constellations, was a gift from his brother.
“Did you see the ring?” Benedict asked in a hoarse whisper, just after the rings had been exchanged in the ceremony.
“Rings,” Charity corrected him. “Gold, and Angel had his engraved with their names and the date.”
“As did he,” Benedict said in defense of his brother. “I rather like the one he gave her upon their engagement, though.”
Charity angled her head to one side. “Citrine and sapphire, although I cannot imagine why the citrine.”
“Venus, Mother,” Benedict replied. “His favorite planet, since that’s the one that had them meeting for the first time.”
His mother’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh, how romantic,” Charity breathed, rather impressed with her younger son.
When the vows were complete, the priest made his announcement and then led the couple and the Torringtons to the vestry to enter the marriage lines. A copy was then presented to Angelica, who promptly rolled it up and proudly carried it with her flowers.
“When will they leave for Italy?” Adele asked when she and Milton were in the town coach and heading back to Worthington House for the wedding breakfast.
“A few days. Ben managed to get tickets on a sailing ship bound for Rome. They and their servants will be there in time for Christmas.”
Adele sighed. “How romantic,” she cooed.
“I’m glad you think so,” he said with a nod. “I have tickets for the same ship.”
Her eyes widening in surprise, Adele stared at her husband. “Milton!”
He merely grinned, not bothering to add that George had tickets as well.
About Linda Rae Sande
A former technical writer and author of twenty-four historical romances, Linda Rae Sande enjoys researching the Regency era and ancient Greece.
A fan of action-adventure movies, she can frequently be found at the local cinema. Although she no longer has any tropical fish, she follows the San Jose Sharks and makes her home in Cody, Wyoming.
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Regency Romance with a Twist
Christmas Charity
by Beverley Oakley
Chapter 1
Charity shivered as she snuggled against Hugo’s side, anticipation heightening as his gentle hands grazed her nipples.
Outside, the wind stirred the branches of the plane tree, its soft sighs competing with Charity’s as tendrils of need speared her, even though it had been mere minutes since they’d collapsed, exhausted and satisfied, in each other’s arms.
“Are you cold?”
The joyous strains of a group of Christmas carollers singing Once in Royal David City had made Charity shiver even more. This time with excitement for, with Hugo by her side, she really could believe in “Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.”
“Here, my sweeting, I’ll keep you warm.”
Hugo always anticipated her needs, Charity thought dreamily as he drew her more tightly against him, her vision encompassing only his beloved, handsome face rather than the tawdry decorations of the room where she did her entertaining.
“I’m never cold when you’re with me,” she whispered, snuggling closer which blocked out the sight of the grimy curtains. Soon they would be a thing of the past. Like the shabby dresser, the faded blue satin counterpane, and the overdone gilt-edged paintings that decorated the place she’d called home for the past two years. Everything would be replaced by pieces exuding simple taste and elegance.
She’d have a bedchamber done up in blue and white like Lady Milton’s, for whom her mother had worked as a governess when Charity had been a child. Charity had never seen such grandeur.
Charity’s bedchamber, however, would be equally hers and Hugo’s; a place of happy trysting rather than formal and cold and barred to the master of the house which is how Charity’s mother had explained the loveless marriage of her employers.
And Charity’s little house would be as far away from Madame Chambon’s House of Assignation as it was possible to be. Hugo had pointed it out to her during a carriage ride some weeks back, telling her it was as good as hers once the lease arrangements had been seen to. He’d given her carte blanche to decorate it as she chose, within certain limits, but he was as generous as any man alive. Dear lord but she was lucky. She shivered even more at the thought of their wonderful shared future and kissed Hugo’s neck. “As long as you are with me, I can face any hardship.”
His hand stilled and grew heavy on Charity’s breast.
Charity glanced up at him.
“My darling, I have to tell you something.”
The languorous contentment of just now was swept away by something difficult to read as his eyes clouded and his sweet gentle mouth formed a tight line. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips then sat up and
swung his legs over the bed, hunched forwards and frowning as he clearly weighed up his next words.
The silence was heavy with portent. Charity braced herself as she watched him struggle. Her throat felt thick and it was suddenly difficult to breathe. Of course, it had been too good to be true. The man who’d taken her virginity; who’d kept coming back and whom she loved, now, with all her heart, was about to end the dream that she’d ever escape Madame Chambon’s. His next words would destroy the illusion that love was possible for a girl who’d sunk as low as she had.
He twisted around, his expression torn, as if he didn’t know whether to comfort her — for he extended his arm then dropped it — or keep the explanation short and brutal.
“Just tell me and don’t spare my feelings,” Charity muttered, balling her hands into fists as she lay rigidly on her back and stared between Hugo and the ceiling.
If she could only put up the casing to protect her heart that the other girls all described as their best defence in such moments, she might survive this but, truly, her heart had always been utterly unguarded with Hugo. He’d been such a loyal companion these past eighteen months. A true and loving companion who’d not stinted when it came to showing her in every way how much she meant to him.
Whereas she, Charity, had so little to offer in return.
Just her love, loyalty, and eternal gratitude.
And her body.
It was not a comforting reflection though, in truth, she couldn’t see how else she’d have managed if she hadn’t been taken in by Madame Chambon.
A girl had to make some hard decisions if she weren’t to starve.
He swallowed, his face grey and drawn as he traced the outline of a flower on the counterpane. Or perhaps it was Charity’s face, or her shoulder, or breast. Hugo had sketched just about every part of Charity with as much loving detail as he fashioned the words of the love poems which accompanied each drawing and poem he gave to her.
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