Once Upon a Christmas Wedding

by Scarlett Scott

  “Lord Carrington thought you might prefer to take supper in the privacy of your chambers,” Bhadra said. “I can have the food brought up when you are ready, madam.”

  The Viscount was more thoughtful than she would have expected, Philippa mused. She gazed at herself in the looking glass. Though she had a pleasant shape, she nevertheless wished she had the form of her earlier years. The gown she wore had a lower neckline than most of her other gowns, but the dark burgundy hue was not a hue that would have been worn by younger women. Would Lord Carrington like what he saw?

  “Is Lord Carrington a frequent guest here?” she asked of Bhadra.

  “He has been here twice before this year.”

  With much younger women, no doubt, Philippa thought to herself.

  “But I think this is the first time he has come during the season of Christmas,” Bhadra finished.

  Philippa had noticed the festive decorations of ivy and tinsel about the Château, reminding her that she had much left to do in the way of Christmas, including the preparation of the boxes for the servants, though Honora had assured her mother that she would oversee that task.

  “Shall I have supper brought up, madam?”

  Philippa nodded. Bhadra departed just as Lord Carrington arrived, looking quite dapper in his silken waistcoat, sharply tied cravat, and buff colored trousers. His gaze settled upon her, with appreciation, it seemed.

  “Was I right to assume you prefer supper in your room?” he asked.

  “For tonight, though I did find Madame Follet a gracious hostess.”

  She sat on a divan in the sitting room. Lord Carrington took a seat opposite.

  “It was kind of you to see to my comfort,” she said.

  He smiled. “I am not all cad.”

  She had very little experience with rakes and scoundrels. They had never seemed interested in her when she was young. How odd that one should want her now that she was much older.

  She returned his smile. “I had my doubts.”

  “Considering you called me a rake with nothing but the word of another, I think I had behaved well in our first encounters.”

  “You most certainly did not! You suggested I had a paramour. What did you know of me to speak such a thing?”

  “Is the thought of a paramour truly so horrible? Do you intend to spend the rest of your life without the touch of man?”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “You overestimate the value of such a thing. There is more to life than carnal satisfaction, especially this time of year, when our minds should be turned to family and Christ.”

  “Perhaps you would not underestimate the carnal if you allowed yourself to revel in its pleasure. Do you, Mrs. Grayson, take pleasure in the carnal?”

  “Lord Carrington—”

  “Arthur. As we will shall know each other in the biblical sense soon enough, there is no reason for formal addresses.”

  “Lord Carrington, you are impertinent.”

  Instead of being offended, he appeared amused. “Your refusal to answer makes me question whether you ever have? Did your husband satisfy you in bed?”

  Her mouth dropped. “That is absolutely none of your affair!”

  “You need not be ashamed if he did not, and I do not ask to condemn the man.”

  “You ask to rile me and indulge your insolence!”

  “I cannot deny I very much like the rise of color in your cheeks when I vex you. It’s quite becoming.”

  Once more she found herself torn. She was flattered and upset all at once. Never was there a more exasperating man!

  And the hunger with which he gazed upon her took the words from her, so that she had no response for him. Her legs trembled, as if he had caressed her rather than just stared at her.

  Thankfully, supper was served.

  “I wonder if you will curb your impudence when you are ready to seek a wife?” she asked as they tucked into meat pies, root vegetables, bread and cheese.

  “I have time,” he replied, pouring wine into her glass.

  “The years will pass faster than you realize. You ought to begin practicing as soon as possible. Starting now, perhaps.”

  He chuckled as he raised his wine glass. “To you, Mrs. Grayson. To your candor, your wit, and your beauty.”

  “You can save such sweet talk for your other conquests. I am compelled to submit to you.”

  He lowered his voice. “I merely speak the truth.”

  “What do you hope to attain with flattery?”

  “Nothing. As you said, you are compelled to submit to me.”

  He had that look once more, the look that stalled her breath and now took away her appetite.

  “And I will wait no longer to taste of your submission,” he said, moving to sit beside her.

  He brushed away a tendril from the side of her face.

  She stifled the groan that formed in her throat. “We have not finished our supper yet, Lord Carrington.”

  “You will call me Arthur, and I shall call you Philippa.”

  She nodded for when he addressed her as Mrs. Grayson, she was reminded of how much older she was.

  His hand moved to caress her cheek. “You will enjoy the feast I am to provide more than the meat pie.”

  A soft moan escaped her. How quickly her body responded to him, as if famished for his touch.

  “What a lovely sound,” he murmured. “I will draw all manner of sounds from you tonight. Before we are done, I will hear you scream my name and know how you tremor in ecstasy,”

  That he could so easily seduce her made her tremble with fear and delight. She wanted this. She wanted to do what Melinda told her and abandon her guard.

  As if knowing she had come to this conclusion, he smiled, such a grin of satisfaction brightening his masculine, strong features that the urge to please him, to see him smile like that at her again and again washed over her, pooling between her legs.

  He pulled her to her feet. Then, cupping her cheeks, he brushed his lips over hers before claiming her mouth with such force that she thought she might suffocate. He drew her into him, and she felt his hard desire, the long length of him against her. She parted her lips to let him in, and he responded with a groan, his tongue darting in, finding hers, leading her in a dance more seductive and dizzying than any waltz.

  She met his exploration with little whimpers of delight. His lips alone had the power to lead her to the precipice of pleasure, where she longed to hang. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her. His fingers tangled in her hair, caressed her back, cupped her arse, dug into her hips.

  The kiss went on and on, easily the longest kiss she had ever known. As his mouth roamed over hers, he began unpinning her gown. Panic rose within her. She had never been naked before any man save her husband, but she did not wish for Arthur—Lord Carrington—to stop.

  After pulling the gown down her shoulders, he kissed the parts he had bared, leaving her breathless. He untied her skirts easily, then turned her around to unlace her stays.

  God in Heaven, she thought to herself. This was truly happening? She was to lay with a man, a rake and one so much younger?

  Once she stood in nothing but her shift, garters, and stockings, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She blushed to feel her backside against him. Cupping her jaw, he turned her face up toward him, and his mouth descended upon hers once more. She gasped against his lips when his hand moved to her breast, palming an orb. Her nipple hardened beneath his hand. He groped her harder, and need swelled between her thighs. She closed her eyes, allowing his kiss and touch to fill her senses.

  He yanked her shift down, baring all. Her eyes flew open. He spun her around and beheld her at arm’s length. She tried to cover herself for she stood in nothing but her undergarments.

  He shook his head. “You are not to hide from me. You are mine while we are here, and I will drink in your full beauty.”

  His trousers tented but he did nothing that indicated he would take care of his ow
n desire, as she had expected. His gaze did just what he had said, his expression full of thirst, like that of a parched man who had been in the desert too long and found an oasis.

  “And drink of you I shall.”

  Desire strummed through her, and she was at once that burning desert and the watery, shimmering oasis. He claimed her again and again, devouring her, his lips pressed to hers. He swept her into his arms, and her slippers came off as he carried her to the bed.

  “It has been a long time…” she began, but words failed her as he pinched her nipples, rolling them between his strong fingers until they hardened into peaks, as if trying to move closer to his touch. Why was her body betraying her in this shameful fashion?

  “I will have you now,” he said, his voice rough.

  He ran his hands along her sides, then cupped her breasts, working his tongue over one until her thoughts became a jumble and the wetness between her thighs slicked.

  There was no struggle left, only surrender. He kissed his way down her belly, his tongue flicking over her heated flesh, leaving a burning path.

  She tried to resist again and pressed her legs together; surely he did not mean to kiss her down there? No man had ever…

  He played with the curls of her most private place, gently, moving his hands down, parting her thighs.

  “Please, Lord Car—Arthur—”

  “Has no man ever pleasured you in this way?” he asked as his fingers caressed closer and closer to her bud of pleasure.

  She shook her head.

  “I am honored to be the first then.”

  Before she could respond, he fingered her opening, swirling her own excitement until he reached that bud of delight that she had found was the way she could pleasure herself better than any man could.

  But not better than this man. He stroked and caressed, back and forth, then in circles until she panted and emitted a low scream.

  “You will spend for me. Again and again.”

  She almost laughed at his certainty, his arrogance.

  “Do you touch yourself thus?” he asked.

  How wicked of him to ask! She lay back in the bed, the soft linens surrounding her, and clamped her lips shut. Removing his hands, he stood and looked down upon her.

  “Do you?”

  She glanced up at him, pleading with her eyes for him to resume his touching. Moment by agonizing moment, he stood still, watching her with a determined brow.

  “Tell me, or you shall lie here while I have an ample glass of port.”

  “Yes!” Truly, he was an insufferable man.

  “Good.” His fingers began again and she almost cried with relief. Then he removed them, only to replace them on her breasts. She thrust her hips at him, silently begging him to satisfy her deepest cravings.

  He ran his tongue along her thigh, moving slowly to her seam. Her hips sprang up again, her body possessing its own mind, one that was at one with his. He licked and kissed her before sucking that bud of delight in and out of his mouth, using his able tongue, swirling and swirling until she gripped at the bedclothes, arching into him, her body aflame. He grasped her hips to keep her steady, to keep her from moving away from his hot mouth.

  She came apart, crying out again and again, words that had no meaning, but he did not relent. Oh, lord, she would not, she could not go on. But she did; he wrung spasm after spasm from her, her body bucking against him, as he sucked and licked her while she—and the world as she knew it—exploded in flashes of light and heat.

  Chapter 9

  Good God, she was beautiful, and still coming, her juices coating his tongue and chin. She was even more spectacular than he had imagined—and he had thought of her many times these last days, since she had softened in his arms. Those thoughts of her had stretched his cock, which he had had to relieve several times. And now he would have her, and find the sweetest of relief in her warm, wet cunnie.

  He lifted his head, to watch her as she came down from the heights of her ecstasy. A more beautiful sight he had never seen, indeed. Her hair had came undone, its golden strands framing her blushing cheeks, her curves nestled in the white linens, her pale skin glistening.

  His cock strained against his trousers. He slid his fingers through her slickness once more, and her body shuddered. With a smile she couldn’t see, he gazed at her face again, her head lolling, eyes closed. She breathed more steadily now, but she seemed to be out of consciousness.

  He divested himself of all his garments, setting them upon the other chair. His cock now freed, it pointed toward the object of his desire. But he would not take her, not yet. Not till she was aware of what they did. He wanted her to see him over her, to scream out his name as she fell into bliss over and over again.

  She shifted. Her breasts moved invitingly, so he grasped them. They fit perfectly in his hands, and he squeezed and played with them until her whimpers turned into moans once more.

  “It is my pleasure to watch you, but my cock would prefer to be buried inside you.” He climbed onto the bed and kissed her. She tasted of sweet wine and desire.

  “Are you ready, my love?”

  “Yes,” she groaned. She parted her legs and he rewarded her with more kisses on her plump, red lips, and caresses to her clitoris. He felt her body tremor again, those sweet shudderings of ecstasy.

  Positioning himself over her, he rubbed his length through her wetness. She bucked toward him. He pressed her down and held her in place. With a grunt, he speared her, his hard member making her his.

  Her silken walls contracted around him, and he had to steel himself from releasing his seed in her. He would last, for her, to show her what pleasure a man could inspire in her.

  She moaned, low and long, as he set a steady pace, rocking in her, tensing his upper body to keep from joining her in the pool of bliss she seemed to be swimming in. He took one of her legs and wrapped it about his hips while her hands roamed his chest before falling to her sides as he stroked inside her with renewed vigor.

  Meeting his movements, she then stilled, the calm before her storm.

  His own was imminent, but as he had no sheath, he would not be able to come to completion inside her. He gave several long, deep thrusts until he felt her insides begin to shake, and pulled out. With one hand, he circled her clit while his other stroked his cock. She came against his hand; he slid his fingers inside her to feel her while he spilled his seed across her belly. The beads of his ejaculate joined her own glow and he groaned with her and collapsed beside her, cradling her to him.

  He kissed her perspiring brow before falling into slumber.

  Her whiffling breath and breasts moving against his chest awoke him some time later. Early morning light, soft as her body against him, filtered through the window curtains.

  He rose and found the sheath he had intended to use before. He glanced at the naked beauty curled in the bed. As if sensing his stare, she opened her eyes and started.

  Grasping at the bedclothes, she tried to cover herself. He shook his head.

  “No, leave them off.”

  “But—”

  He strode to her and silenced her with a fierce kiss. Her tongue tangled with his and soon their limbs did the same, their bodies pressed together, moans echoing in the morning stillness.

  Chapter 10

  Philippa shifted under him. The weight of him upon her renewed the sparks that had died to barely glowing embers in the night. Never had a man effected her thusly. She stiffened—was she somehow disloyal to her beloved husband? He would want her to be happy, she knew, but somehow enjoying this much pleasure with another man seemed wrong, though Francis was many years gone.

  “Do you wish to stop?” he asked between kisses, his mouth so near hers, she could still taste him, a musky, salty savoriness that was all things carnal.

  “No, yes, I…” She could not continue. He was a man of great perception; he had felt her tension as quickly as she had thought of it.

  “You have yet to scream my name,” he said.
His strong, lean body next to hers did things to her she had not known possible.

  “Why would I do that?” she gasped out as he tweaked her nipples, which stood to attention at his touch. Her body seemed his to command, for she flowed again under him, waiting for him to take her again, as he had last eve.

  “Because I shall make you so ecstatic that you’ll wish to thank me.”

  “Indeed?” she replied half-heartedly. She had no doubt that this man could make her do such a wanton thing, and more.

  He grunted a response. His member rested on her mons, the tip dipping dangerously close to her opening. Her body betrayed her yet again as her legs parted for him. He slipped inside her and she gasped at the pleasure of him filling her. Inch by glorious inch he claimed her, but still he was not buried to the hilt. She wanted him to ram himself as deep as he could, as he had last night, when she had come undone so completely. And yet, she shouldn’t want that.

  “More,” she whispered.

  He growled, a satisfied sound, and gave her another inch of his cock. It pulsed in her, or was that herself? She shivered when he withdrew, tugging upon some sensitive spot within her, and sighed when he sank once more into her. The back and forth motion ignited the fire till bliss ripped through her.

  “Arthur!”

  He grinned and shoved himself into her with such force that her breath caught in her chest for a moment.

  Heaving in air, she dug her fingers into his broad back. Their gazes met and she could not look away. His determined focus and admiring intensity made her continue spilling over and over into ecstasy.

  On and on he pounded into her, bringing her to the edge of a different cliff—that of discomfort, almost pain. Yet she opened herself for more, and more. And then he spent. She gasped as he shuddered in a powerful release; for a moment her vision went hazy, so great was the pleasure of their climaxing together.

  They lay entwined, their breaths still loud from exertion, their skin hot against one another. He kissed her brow before easing from her. A soreness remained where he had stretched her.