Instead of answering her question, he grasped her waist and lifted her so that she straddled him. He kissed her while tearing open the dressing gown and pushing it off her shoulders. He had already decided that now was not the time for talk. He would enjoy their isolation and happiness for as long as it would last. Morning would be soon enough for them to seek the answers to their questions and determine where to go from here. For now, he wanted her again—so badly it physically pained him. The discomfort of his leg fell second to the throb of his growing erection as he pulled her chemise down to bare her breasts and take one into his mouth. She moaned, writhing in his lap in a way that created the most delicious friction between them. Continuing his assault on her breasts, he reached beneath the chemise and between her legs. He moaned when he found her already wet for him, the warmth and heat of her surrounding his gently probing fingers. She must be a bit sore, but she didn’t seem to mind, undulating her hips and groaning as he stroked her.
Just as he reached down to open his placket, she stopped him, easing off his lap and sinking to the floor between his knees. Wicked intent flashed in her eyes as she gazed up at him, hands braced on the insides of his thighs. He wrestled with the sharp slash of lust that went through him at the sight of her on her knees before him, along with panic at the thought of her so near his leg. As she touched him, her hand smoothed down the left thigh and over the soft leather of his prosthetic encasing the stump.
But then she leaned forward to press a kiss against the bulge at the front of his trousers, the tension melting from him when she used a hand to stimulate him through the fabric.
“What are you doing?” he groaned, letting his head fall back onto the sofa. He knew very well what she was doing, yet still couldn’t fathom it. Josephine touching him this way felt like a dream instead of reality.
“If you can kiss me … well, where you kissed me, why can’t I do the same to you?”
God, please kiss me there.
The words remained trapped between his teeth as he glanced down to find her opening his trousers. His gut churned as she began easing them down his hips along with his drawers. He allowed it, but reached out to halt her before she could pull them any farther down his legs.
“That’s far enough,” he rasped, covering her hands with his to impede her progress.
She looked up into his eyes, determination setting her features and making her chin jut out in the most endearing way. Just then, he wanted to give her whatever she desired, if only she’d follow through with taking the organ standing high and hard in his lap into her mouth.
“I have given you my all, Maxwell,” she said. “I’ve bared every inch of myself to you, and denied you nothing. Yet, you sleep in your boots and trousers and will not allow me to see you as you have seen me.”
Releasing his trousers, she reached down to grip her chemise, swiftly pulling it off and treating him to the sight of her beautiful body.
“There is nothing between us now except the things you allow to remain.”
Guilt lanced through him as he realized she was right. From the beginning, he knew that she was nothing like the others who gawked at him like some kind of circus attraction. She never flinched away from him, and had given herself to him when so many other women would have fled. She deserved everything he’d ever held back from her, no matter how ugly. She deserved to see all of him and decide if she still wanted him. Even knowing the chances were slim that she’d spurn him, he experienced a brief moment of doubt and fear.
Clenching his jaw, he acted before he could change his mind. Raising his hips off the sofa, he shucked the trousers and drawers down his thighs, then leaned forward to unlace his right boot. She helped him off with the boot, then eased the trousers down his legs, revealing the strap and buckle around his stump, which disappeared into the thigh socket, which gave way to a steel-framed knee joint, the false calf made to match the size of his right one, then the flexible false foot. He jerked his gaze away from it, his breath racing as he fought not to leap up and cover himself. Bracing himself, he waited for her to react to him with horror and disgust. He could hardly stand to look at it. So then, why should she?
He drew in a sharp breath when her hand found the buckle, and he swiftly looked back at her just as she loosened the strap, then began working on the second one. Despite the pressure and tension around his thigh easing and offering relief, he went rigid where he sat, staring down at her in disbelief.
“Josephine …”
“It makes you uncomfortable. Do not try to deny it. You’ve been unable to sit still all evening. It’s only you and I here, and you ought to be comfortable. Let me help you.”
He eased back into his slouched position, wanting this and hating it all at the same time. She was so tender as she removed the leg and set it aside, handling the prosthetic with care. Then, she was unwrapping his stump, unwinding the cloth he wore to protect it from friction and moisture inside the thigh socket. Her expression did not change as she revealed what was left of his leg. No gasp or cry of sympathy, no exclamations or cringing. She simply used both hands to knead his thigh muscle, gazing up at him questioningly.
“How does that feel? Better?”
He had no choice but to nod, admitting that it did. The reprieve from wearing his leg was a welcome one, and her lack of outward reaction to what remained of his thigh bolstered him. In this way, she proved to him what he already knew to be true—he loved this woman, and no other would do for him. In her, he’d found everything he would need for the rest of his life. And in the morning, he was going to do whatever it took to convince her that they belonged together.
After the tense muscles of his thigh eased a bit, she returned her attention to the rigid organ thrusting up from his groin, pulsing and begging for her touch. It had only grown harder during the massage, and now he was even more desperate to have her.
“I hope the way I’m thinking of doing this is the correct way,” she said while taking him in hand. “With no experience to draw on, I’m improvising here.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but words never came. Instead, he let out a hoarse groan of pleasure as she flicked her tongue at the head of him. She repeated the motion again and again, licking and kissing him with an abandon and curiosity that set his blood on fire.
“You’re doing … just fine,” he managed between panted breaths, his belly clenching as she went on placing kisses along the side of his shaft.
He took hold of her hair and guided her, pressing himself against her lips.
“Open your mouth, sweet. Take me inside. Christ, yes … just like that.”
He fought not to spill into her mouth then and there as she enveloped him, drawing back and then taking him in again, eventually finding her rhythm. He surged his hips and taught her what to do, angling her head so she’d be more comfortable and seeking to reach as far into the wet, hot cavern of her mouth as possible. Even with all his experience, he could never remember it being this good in the past. He’d been with dozens of women, all of whom had come to him skilled and knowledgeable—yet none of them compared to sweet, innocent Josephine, so intent on learning and pleasing him.
“You have to … stop,” he panted after a moment, pulling free of her mouth. “Or I’ll finish right now.”
Before she could protest, he urged her back to her feet, then into his lap. All reticence over his leg forgotten, he poised her over the hard length of him, desperate to be inside her. He gripped her hips and eased her down onto him as slowly and gently as possible, noting her slight wince when he first entered her. But the way was easier now, and the moment he was all the way inside, the strain on her face turned into pure bliss.
He took hold of her hips and showed her how to ride him, sliding her up and down his length, then back and forth so he burrowed even deeper. She gripped his shoulders and took over, meeting each of his upward thrusts with her own rhythm, breasts swaying hypnotically with each movement. Taking one into his mouth, he groaned around the
nipple as the hot, wet stroke of her around him drove Maxwell to madness. They moved as one, clinging to each other as the sounds of their loving filled the room—the slap of her thighs against his, his grunts and groans, her breathless cries. It didn’t take long for her to splinter and fall apart, thighs trembling on either side of his as she cried out her pleasure. Maxwell followed close behind, gripping her buttocks and thrusting as deep into her as he could go before releasing with a roar.
Their ragged, noisy breaths mingled together in the air as he turned so that he lay on his back, then pulled her to lay flush atop him, her head on his chest. Reaching to the floor for the discarded blanket, he covered them both and settled in for a long, pleasant night holding Josephine. As they drifted to sleep together once more, he held her tight and vowed to make her his no matter what. When he left for Cornwall, he’d do everything in his power to ensure she came, too.
Chapter 12
Christmas morning dawned quiet and still, with a dreary, overcast sky and inches of snow covering the ground. The snowstorm of the night before didn’t seem so severe in the light of the following day now that the flurries had ceased and the winds had quieted. If more inclement weather was in the offing, they would need to make haste on their return walk to avoid it.
Maxwell had awakened only once during the night, sweat dampening his hair and tremors wracking his body—the effects of a terrifying dream—but Josephine simply rolled over in his arms to face him, wrapping her arms around him and easing his head against her breast. With a murmured ‘shh’, she had him calming, the gentle stroke of her fingers through his hair soothing him back toward drowsiness. He slept through what remained of the night, awakening at dawn with the sobering realization that they must now return to the manor. As they rose and helped each other dress before retreating to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, Maxwell ruminated over his resolution of the previous evening. The party wouldn’t end for days, but he knew their disappearance and sudden reappearance would cause quite the uproar, putting Josephine’s reputation at risk. He’d have to act quickly to salvage it and convince her that her new place in the world ought to be with him in Cornwall. Their walk back to the house proved as good a time as any for them to discuss it.
“There will be talk when we return,” he said as he led her out of the cottage, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. “Your aunt will not be pleased. I will do my best to explain matters, but …”
“I know,” she said, casting him an apologetic glance. “I am so sorry to have put you in this situation, Maxwell. While I did enjoy our time alone in the cottage, I understand how difficult this has made things.”
He paused beneath the shading branches of a poplar, turning to take her into his arms. “Stop apologizing. I meant what I said yesterday. I’m not sorry and I never will be. What you gave me last night … it was beautiful, Josephine.”
She smiled, lifting one hand to cup his face. “It was, and I do not regret it either. This is, perhaps, the best Christmas I’ve ever experienced.”
He wanted to tell her that once they were married, she’d have the most joyful Christmases of her life. He would shower her with gifts and find the best places for her to skate on the ice. He’d hire a cook to prepare her favorite dishes for dinner, and fill their home with mistletoe so he would have an excuse to spend the entire day finding sly ways to maneuver her under it and steal kisses.
However, he would actually have to ask for her hand in marriage first, and there was still a conversation to be had. So, instead, he simply returned her smile and murmured, “Happy Christmas, Josephine.”
“Happy Christmas, Maxwell. Oh, and look!”
Tipping his head back, he followed her pointing finger to what hung a few feet over their heads.
“There seems to be quite a bit of mistletoe growing on this tree.”
He chuckled, lowering his head and drawing her closer. “I suppose that means I must adhere to tradition.”
“If you must,” she teased, going up on tiptoe to offer her lips.
He kissed her, putting every ounce of his turbulent emotions behind the act. His hold on her tightened, her back arching and her breasts mashing against his chest. She returned his ardor, sighing and moaning against his lips. Maxwell didn’t want to pull away, but the distant thud of hooves and the heavy dragging of something through the snow drew his attention. With a muttered curse, he looked up to find a pair of his father’s best carriage horses thundering toward them, kicking up clumps of snow and soil while drawing a massive sleigh behind them. In it sat Thaddeus, his lower body covered in piles of furs. Beneath the brim of his hat, his expression of shock and dismay at the sight of them was clear. Standing on the perch, a driver shouted directions to the horses, the reins held in one gloved hand.
“Damn it all to hell,” Maxwell muttered, taking hold of Josephine’s hand. “It would seem we’ve been rescued.”
He ought to be glad they wouldn’t have to trudge back to the manor on foot, and the sleigh ride would be a welcome reprieve for his leg. But any chance he had of speaking to Josephine alone before their arrival had just been destroyed.
“Max!” Thaddeus exclaimed as the horses slowed and the sleigh skidded to a stop. “By God, am I glad to see you! And you, too, Miss Brewer. We’ve all been worried sick.”
His brother threw the furs aside and vaulted out of the sleigh, his eyes wide and his breath harsh as he rushed to meet them. Maxwell kept his tight grip on Josephine’s hand, even when his brother glanced to their joined fingers with raised eyebrows.
“We attempted returning to the house, but could hardly see where we were going. We stumbled on the cottage. I knew we were too far from the house, and likely to wander even farther out if we continued, so we took shelter there to wait it out.”
“Seems a lot more than that has happened,” Thaddeus murmured, giving Maxwell a look filled with suspicion. “When we return to the manor … well, it isn’t good. Mother is in a lather, and Mrs. Burton is even worse off. Miss Brewer, I trust you are unharmed?”
Maxwell bristled at the insinuation, but said nothing. Of course assumptions would be made about their time alone, and most of them would be correct.
“I am perfectly fine, Lord Davies,” Josephine replied. “Your brother looked after me with care and consideration. I couldn’t have asked for better in such a situation.”
Thaddeus seemed dubious, but he nodded before gesturing toward the sleigh. “We’d better get back. I’ll need to send word to the other search parties that you’ve been found. We tried to look last night, but the snow and winds didn’t allow us to go far. Father dispatched several parties at first light.”
Guilt niggled Maxwell’s conscious as he gave Josephine a hand into the sleigh. While his family had been worried and searching for him, he was enjoying his isolation with Josephine, availing himself to the delights of her body. But, he pushed the feeling aside and reminded himself that he’d done nothing fundamentally wrong. They were stranded, and remaining where they were had been necessary. Besides, he hadn’t enjoyed anything in so long. Wasn’t he entitled to be happy for once in his life? They’d been found, and all would be well.
Still, worry set in as he wondered over Mrs. Burton’s reaction to Josephine being found with him. The woman had displayed a lack of care for her stepdaughter, and Maxwell didn’t expect that to change just because Josephine had gone missing for a night. Placing an arm around her, he arranged the furs over both their laps, while Thaddeus shared the perch behind them with the driver. Giving Josephine a light squeeze, he whispered reassurances in her ear during the swift drive.
“Everything will be all right. Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do,” she replied.
“Then, when we arrive, allow me to do all the talking. I will do my best to smooth this over, and then … we need to have a discussion, you and I.”
She nodded her agreement, though he still registered uncertainty and fear in her eyes. There wasn’t much he could do
about that until their families were confronted, so until then Maxwell could only hold her and be prepared to do battle with her stepmother.
The earl was waiting on the front steps of the manor when they arrived, arms crossed over his chest and his expression grim. He trotted down to meet them, reaching out to help Maxwell to his feet, before grudgingly offering Josephine the same courtesy.
“Well done, Thaddeus. Maxwell, what could you have been thinking? You’ve worried your mother half to death, and Mrs. Burton is fit to kill.”
“We couldn’t have expected the storm to come when it did,” Maxwell argued. “When we became lost in the blinding snow, I did what I thought to be best. Miss Brewer was kept safe, and I’d do it again without hesitation.”
The earl went tight-lipped, looking at Josephine as if she were somehow to blame for all of this. Placing a protective arm around her waist, Maxwell held her close to his side and began leading her up the steps.
“Come, sweet. You need warming and something hot to drink. Are you hungry? I can send for breakfast.”
“Your mother and Mrs. Burton are waiting in the family drawing room,” the earl called after them. “You may warm yourself in there while you make your explanations.”
Since there was no use avoiding the inevitable, Maxwell led her swiftly up the grand stairs and toward the half-open door of the appointed room. Thankfully, all the other guests were ensconced inside the dining room enjoying breakfast, so no one was about to see them returning in shame.
The moment they appeared in the doorway of the drawing room, all its occupants came to their feet, issuing cries of shock and alarm. His mother rushed toward him, while Violet made a mad dash to her stepsister, throwing her arms around Josephine’s neck.
“Oh, thank God. Jo, I was so very worried. I hardly slept a wink! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Violet,” Josephine replied, recovering from the shock of her sister’s sudden embrace and patting the girl’s back. “Lieutenant Davies’ swift thinking likely saved us once we were caught out in the storm. We got lost trying to make our way back to the house, but stumbled upon a folly cottage where we were able to take shelter.”
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