Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  She gasped, sitting up straight and giving him a horrified look. “We? As in … you were part of the Light Brigade?”

  He gave her a grim nod. “I was in the thirteenth regiment of the Light Dragoons, among those of the Light Brigade, yes. I take it you’ve heard of us. Everyone had by the time the war ended.”

  Her mouth fell open and she studied him as if truly seeing it for the first time. “Lord Tennyson’s poem about the Charge of the Light Brigade gave us all a glimpse into the horrors of that day.”

  “Ah yes,” he muttered, calling to mind the famous poet’s words—ones he’d lived himself. “‘Cannon to the right of them, cannon to the left of them, cannon in front of them, volleyed and thundered, stormed at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hundred.’ It was rather less poetic than that, but the man captured the truth of it well enough. It truly was hell, charging straight into the center of the valley, surrounded, fired on by artillery at all sides.”

  She stroked his cheek, tears filling her eyes. “I knew you’d been in the battle, but I had no idea. The stories I’ve heard and read have broken my heart with each account. Oh, Maxwell, to think you were there …”

  Lowering his head, he released a breath heavy with regret and pain. “Six hundred of us charged into that valley prepared to lay down our lives on faulty orders. And to add insult to injury, the commander of the Heavy Brigade refused to render aid. He held his men back to prevent any further casualties, seeing us as a lost cause. Which, of course, only encouraged the Russian infantry to join the fray, circling us on all sides. It was pure chaos—cracking cannons and slashing sabers. A new rifle ball had come into use just before the war, and the Russians utilized it as well as we did … the Minié ball. Its shape and spirals allow it a more accurate trajectory and devastating impact. Instead of becoming lodged in flesh or being diverted by bone, they are designed for devastation. They tear through flesh like a knife through butter, and shatter bone. One of those balls found its way through my knee during the melee, shattering the joint and ripping the flesh of my calf to ribbons.”

  She gasped, clapping one hand over her mouth, the tears she’d been holding back falling in fat droplets. He hated the sight of her grief for him, and wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But, now that he’d begun telling the tale he couldn’t seem to stop. She claimed to want to know Maxwell, and this was one part of him few people ever came to know. He’d guarded his injury and his experiences because no one could understand. People looked at him and saw someone who should be dead, but who had dared to live. For the first time, he felt as if this one person was glad he had survived, instead of resenting him for it like he suspected his mother did, or pitying him and experiencing guilt like his brother.

  “I was taken by hospital boat to the Scutari Hospital—which was nothing more than a hovel where men were sent to die. My wounds were dressed and I was given spirits and laudanum for the pain, but I remember snatches of conversation about my leg and the direness of my outlook. It wasn’t good, and they did not expect me to live. It did not take long for me to contract an infection in the filthy environs of the hospital, and it became clear that I faced a very clear choice—my life or my leg from the knee down. There could be no choice, really. If I wanted to live, I must let them amputate. Even delirious with fever and wracked with pain I knew what must be done. I told them to take the leg and save my life if they could.”

  Josephine dropped her hand from her mouth, her gaze falling to the seemingly whole limb stretched out before him. With a slack jaw, she looked back into his eyes, seeming bewildered. “I don’t understand … but you …”

  “Couldn’t allow you to remove my boots,” he said. “Because to take the left boot, you’d have to take the leg with it.”

  Pushing the blanket aside, he rapped his knuckles against the contraption of wood and steel hidden by the fabric. Its heavy thud echoed through the silent room, and he winced at the sound of it.

  “I own three of these, each one fitted with a shoe matching the mate I wear on my right foot. They amputated and saved me from the first infection, stabilizing me enough to travel home to continue my recovery. But the conditions aboard my ship back to England were little better than those in Scutari … and by the time I arrived home I was ill with fever again. This time, I refused to acknowledge the red, enflamed flesh at the stump below my knee … wouldn’t hear the surgeon’s insistence that more of the leg must be taken to keep me alive. I’d already sacrificed so much—what was left of my youth, my sanity, and the damned lower half of my leg. I refused to let death take anything else from me.”

  Her gaze fell to his leg, her slender fingers moving over what was left of his thigh, past the socket encasing the stump, then lower over the steel knee joint to the wooden calf encased in a black leather boot.

  “Thaddeus sent for the best surgeons from all over England while I tried to fight off the infection on my own, determined not to submit myself to another surgeon’s saw. But, they all gave the same grim news; my first amputation wasn’t done under the best conditions and the work had been shoddy at best. I was going to die if they did not take more of the leg above the knee. I wanted to die. I almost allowed the infection to claim me, but Thaddeus wouldn’t allow it. He begged and pleaded with me for days until I finally relented. I truly believed I wouldn’t survive it, so it wouldn’t matter whether I let it happen or not. Obviously, I was proven wrong, for here I am—alive and absent more than half a leg.”

  Turning until she knelt in the space between his spread legs, she cupped his face in both hands. “How glad I am that you survived, or I might not be here with you right now.”

  He dropped his gaze, focusing on the pattern of the dressing gown she wore. “I cannot pretend I don’t feel the same way, but it is selfish of me. I am not who I was, nor do I want to be. But … I am still not certain who I am now, and who I am now may never be enough for you, Josephine.”

  She gave him a little shake, forcing him to look into her eyes once more. In them, he found steely determination and a passion that took his breath away.

  “Stop that. I will hear no more of you maligning yourself as if fighting bravely and being injured have turned you into some sort of unlovable creature. You may not be who you once were, but you are still a man worthy of regard and respect and love. You are enough just as you are, Maxwell. Do you hear? You are enough.”

  When she fell against him and mashed her mouth to his, he accepted her without reservation. After the things she’d just said, how could he not? He’d been fighting this from the moment he first laid eyes on her, but he realized now that he’d never stood a chance. This woman saw him, she cared for him, she wanted him. It was more than he’d ever thought to have when returning from Crimea still feeling pain in a limb that had been long removed. The phantom throbbing of his missing leg had only proved a small part of his suffering, for he had felt the ache of the part of him that had been taken with it—the thing that had made Maxwell who he was.

  But, as Josephine clutched his face and kissed him with the force of all the tenderness and affection in her small body, Maxwell began to feel whole again.

  Chapter 10

  Josephine struggled for breath when Maxwell tore his lips from her, his own breathing coming ragged and harsh. He clutched her shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut as if in pain. During their heated kiss, he had pulled her into his lap, and she now sat straddling him with her dressing gown falling open. She could feel his response to her nearness, the hardness of the organ filling with blood and pressing right between her legs. She’d never been this close to a man, though had learned enough about this sort of thing through her reading to know what that hardness meant. He wanted her. As her breasts grew heavy and tight within her corset, and a slow pulse began between her legs, Josephine realized that she wanted him, too. Being held and kissed was no longer enough. There were so many unfamiliar desires erupting within her
at once, and she grew desperate to have him fulfill them.

  “Josephine, we cannot go on like this. I’ve done my best to hold back, but it’s become too difficult.”

  He surged his hips, urging his rigid erection closer to her. She gasped at the little flutter of pleasure it sent through her core, and found herself wanting more. Hands braced on his chest, she tested a tentative motion against him and whimpered as the fluttering increased.

  He issued a choked gasp, dropping his head back against the couch cushion, his hands dropping to grip her hips. “Christ, what are you doing to me? Josephine, we have to stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop. For the first time in my life, I desire to let myself have something I want for a change. Something that has nothing to do with my stepmother or my father and his will. Something just for me. I want you, Maxwell.”

  He trembled beneath her, his grip on her hips tightening to an almost painful degree. His hands shook as he continued to fight against what was happening between them. She could see his internal struggle, the glitter in his eyes as he raked his gaze down to where their bodies pressed together. With a few less layers separating them, he could be inside her. She shuddered at the thought, not as afraid of the idea as she ought to be. She only knew she felt as if she would die if he didn’t make love to her. Josephine could not leave this cottage without learning where passion could take them.

  “I want you, too … so badly. But if we—”

  She cut him off with a kiss, emboldened to take charge. Meeting her with desperate hunger, he cupped her buttocks and ground her against him while kissing her as if searching for his next breath.

  “No ‘buts’,” she admonished. “We are here alone for God knows how long, and we may never have another chance. Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t regret it if we left this cottage without giving in to what we both want?”

  His trembling hands reached up to untie the belt of her dressing gown, then slid beneath the lapels to slip it off her shoulders. Shrugging free of the garment, she sat still as he ran his hands up her arms, his thumbs smoothing over her collarbone, then skimming toward the neckline of her chemise. Goosebumps rippled along her skin wherever he touched, and a heady tingle overcame her from scalp to toes.

  “I would regret it,” he said. “For the rest of my days I would regret not knowing what you taste like, what you feel like.”

  He gripped her waist, then moved his touch inward, pressing the two sides of her corsets together, popping the hook and eye fastenings all at once. She released a sigh of relief as the garment loosened and fell away, letting up its restriction on her waist. His gaze dropped to her chemise, and he palmed her breasts, squeezing them before trailing his hands back to her waist, rubbing away the pressure lines left by the undergarment.

  “It’s been so long,” he murmured, leaning forward to rest his head against her shoulder. “I will try my best to be gentle, sweet.”

  She stroked his hair, reveling in the feel of his warm breath seeping through her chemise. “Don’t hold back. I want you as you are, and I am not afraid.”

  As if her words had freed him from the last of his restraint, he raised his head and captured her lips in another deep kiss. His tongue probed as he snatched at the hem of her chemise, only breaking their kiss to pull the garment off over her head. Then, she was tilting, falling onto the cushion of the blankets and the tangle of her shed garments as he lay her back and fell between her spread legs. His kisses trailed from her lips to her throat, his teeth and tongue teasing along the slender tendons.

  “You smell so good,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and taking a deep inhale. “Like flowers and grass, and fresh, clean air. Like springtime.”

  She could find no words to reply, as the hot stroke of his tongue rasping along her neck sent a jolt of heat straight between her legs. He continued his path downward, cupping her breasts and stroking his thumbs over both nipples at once. She cried out, back arching as he lapped at one with his tongue, then latched onto it with his lips. Each suckling pull of his mouth sent electricity arcing over her skin, and lightning strikes of exquisite pleasure into her groin. She twisted and writhed beneath him, clutching his head to her breasts as he tormented her with his mouth. His kisses moved down to her belly while he pulled at the ribbon of her drawers. A flush crept up her neck and heated her cheeks when he began easing her out of them, pausing to nuzzle at the dark curls between her legs before placing more kisses along her thighs. His lips touched every inch of skin he revealed, smoothing down her legs as he untied her garters and peeled her wool stockings away.

  She clenched her eyes shut when he grasped her knees, prying her legs farther apart. It was difficult to fight the stiffness in her body as she prepared for the inevitable pain. But, she gasped when, instead of the hard plunge of his cock, she felt the warmth of his breath against her most secret of places. Her eyes flew open as that whisper of a breath turned into wetness and heat when he pressed his open mouth to the seam of her mons.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, staring down at him in wide-eyed wonder as he kissed her where she’d least expected.

  This certainly hadn’t been in any of her books. But, oh was it wondrous, the warmth of his mouth and the caress of his tongue as he darted it against that sensitive nub resting at the center of her. Then, he began probing at her entrance with his first finger, adding an intriguing pressure and fullness to the already overwhelming sensation of his wicked kisses.

  “Maxwell,” she whispered, her voice heavy with awe.

  Never had she imagined he would do such things to her and she would lie there swimming in ecstasy, enjoying it all too much to feel embarrassed or ashamed. He pressed slowly and gently into her, teasing her channel with long, deep strokes as his lips closed around her throbbing nub, his tongue lashing it at the perfect rhythm. He added a second finger, making her cry out from the sharp sting of such an invasion. He murmured soothing words against her between laps of his tongue, urging her to relax and let him pleasure her as the urgency he’d created in her built and swelled to near unbearable limits.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he whispered, curling his fingers and finding a spot deep within her that made her see stars. “You’re almost there.”

  She wasn’t certain what was coming, but Josephine knew that she wanted it. Her mouth watered for it, her entire body winding taut and priming itself for some monumental thing. She could hardly breathe as it reached its peak, before her insides erupted into a maelstrom of pure rapture. The cries that echoed through the room were wild and wanton, sharp and unrestrained as release unfurled and swept through her with such force she thought it might kill her. Maxwell quickened his thrusts, gently licking and stroking her as her channel clenched around his fingers, the rapid pulse at her center swelling into pounding spasms that seemed to tear her apart from the inside out. Her fingers gripped the blankets, her hips bowing up off the floor as she surrendered to the release. Maxwell didn’t let up until she went still, slumping to the floor as the intensity of her climax faded away into a lingering ache. She trembled from head to toe while he crawled over her, positioning himself between her legs once more and wrapping her in his arms.

  Holding her tight, he kissed her cheek and stroked her hair, seeming content to hold her as she recovered from the aftershocks of her first climax. She clung to him, tangling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and inhaling his spicy scent as the rapid cadence of her heart and the harshness of her breath began returning to normal. Propping himself up, he began plucking the pins from her mussed hair, tossing them aside and using his fingers to spread her thick curls around her head. Staring at the strands as if entranced, he twined a few of the coils around his finger and gently tugged them, watching them stretch and spring.

  Now that the torrent of release had faded, the press of him between her legs and the insistence of his unquenched arousal made a new sense of urgency arise within her. She wanted him to finish it, to join their bodies in a way that couldn’t be undon
e. She raised her head to kiss him while working at his shirt buttons. He used one hand to help her, taking over the buttons while she pulled his shirttails free of his trousers. Together, they worked the garment off over his head, and Maxwell tossed it aside as she studied him with unrestrained curiosity.