Mischief & Mistletoe (A Christmas Novella) (13 page)

“Yes, I see…” And she peered up at the kissing ball hanging above her head. “Every Christmas?” she asked, just to be certain.

“Every Christmas,” he said, and offered his arm.

But the kiss was only proof her heart belonged to him still… tonight he intended to bind her to him forever.

At the stroke of midnight, Lucien slipped out of his room and made his way toward Emma’s room.

All the lights had been extinguished for the night, but the house was aglow with something far more brilliant—the light of love. It shone here in this home, where the folks were far less sober than those he had encountered throughout his life. Whatever he had set out to accomplish when he’d set out from London, it wasn’t this, he realized, but as certain as that freshly fallen snow he had traipsed through this afternoon, and the laughter they’d shared over dinner, he knew that Emma was the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with.

He couldn’t imagine another in his bed.

Halfway down the hall he froze as a door opened and closed at the end of the corridor.

Holding a candle before him, Andrew Peters, dressed all in red with a matching nightcap, froze before his bedroom door when he spotted Lucien.

He straightened, and after a moment, came walking toward him, though he spoke not a word until he stood before Lucien. And then, laying his finger aside his nose, he considered Lucien a long moment.

It was only in this light, without the trappings of his formal attire, that Lucien could see how truly youthful Peters appeared. He could be no more than five years Emma’s senior. He squared his shoulders and met Lucien’s gaze and for the longest time, the two men simply stared at one another. After a long moment Andrew set his shoulders straighter and asked, “Will pistols be necessary at dawn?”

“Only if you intend to keep me from the altar.”

Each man assessed the other.

Peters seemed to think about his response a moment, and apparently, satisfied, gave him a nod. “Carry on, then,” he said, and walked on by, cradling his candle before him, explaining, “I have cookies to eat.” His buttery light moved on down the hall, casting dancing shadows wherever it passed. Still Lucien waited, half expecting him to turn about and shout at him like a mad man, but he didn’t.

As awkward as the encounter had been, he reasoned, it must be a far different matter for a brother than for a father. Besides they were already engaged, he argued with himself, and grinned, feeling suddenly like the luckiest man on earth.

When he was certain Andrew Peters wouldn’t murder him where he stood, he started again toward Emma’s room, thinking that he might revise his plan a bit and simply have a chat with her. The need to see her tonight was inexorable. Dinner with her and her precious family had left him yearning for her eternal presence.

She made him smile, and her youthful exuberance no longer dismayed him. In fact, he found it quite infectious, and for the first time in so long, he felt full of anticipation and passion.

Slipping into her room, he went to her bedside and knelt beside her bed, placing a hand over her mouth to stifle her inevitable cry of surprise.

“Emma,” he whispered excitedly.

Her eyes flew wide. “Lucien?”

“It’s Christmas morning!” he said.

The sound of joy in Lucien’s voice brought an instant smile to Emma’s lips.

She blinked, peering at her window. Frosted though it might be, she could still see the moon riding high in the sky. Silvery light spilled into the bedroom, illuminating Lucien’s handsome face and his clear blue eyes. “But it’s night,” she argued.

“After midnight, and thus morning,” he persisted with a smile. “At any rate, I couldn’t wait to give you my gift!”

The evening had been truly lovely, with great promise, but Emma had hardly expected a gift from Lucien. Surprised by the prospect, she sat up, pulling the covers to her breast. “A gift? Oh, no! But I have nothing to give you, Lucien!”

“You have already given me my gift,” he told her, and smiling still, he withdrew a small box from his pocket, handing it to her.

Emma’s heart pounded against her breast for she knew precisely what it contained.

His mother’s ring.

She had set it down upon Andrew’s desk and walked away, expecting never to see it again. Forgetting modesty, she dropped the covers and opened the box at once, gasping with joy—not because the ring was so lovely, with its enormous mother-of-pearl stone etched with Lucien’s family’s crest, but because this time when he gave it to her, she spied the certainty in his eyes. Words escaped her as she peered at him across the box in her hand.

“Put it on,” he entreated.

Unshed tears gathered in Emma’s eyes. She blinked them away, but couldn’t speak. Her throat felt suddenly too thick, and her vision too hazy. In fact, she couldn’t have put the ring on to save her life.

Impatient to see it on her hand once more, Lucien took the ring from the box, placing it gingerly upon her finger. He took a fortifying breath. “Be my wife,” he entreated. “I love you, Emma Peters,” he said honestly, and kissed her hand with feeling. “I believe I have from the first. I just didn’t feel worthy then—nor do I now, but I shall never let you regret it for a moment—I swear it!”

Tears rolled down Emma’s cheeks.

With bated breath, Lucien awaited for her response, hoping against hope that she would not see fit to deny him. After all he had put her through, he wouldn’t blame her if she chose to walk away. But he worried for naught, because he spied forgiveness in her eyes—and so much more—and she whispered softly, “Yes!”

His heart surged into his throat.

In that moment, he couldn’t help himself—her brother be damned—propriety be damned. He wanted her with a desire more fierce than any he had ever known. And if he was very, very lucky, she was going to be quite thoroughly ruined by morning. And then he planned to marry her in such a scandalous haste that it would lift every brow in London, if not the whole of England.

She sighed softly as he adored her mouth and he was vaguely aware that she dropped the gift box from her fingers. It tumbled forgotten to the floor with a wooden clatter.

“Lucien,” she whispered between his kisses. “What are you doing?”

Honesty had always served him best, he decided. “Making certain you have no choice but to marry me in the morning.”

Emma couldn’t stifle a horrified giggle. “You
are
a wicked man!” she said, choking on her emotion.

Lucien laughed softly, laying her back upon the bed, kissing her thoroughly. “So I’ve been told,” he said without remorse, and when she didn’t protest, he rolled on the bed, taking her with him. “Now tell me you love me,” he demanded, holding her firmly about the waist. “Or I will shout at the top of my lungs and wake the entire house!”

Emma stifled a shriek of surprise to find herself suddenly reversed and looking down upon him. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Lucien opened his mouth to prove otherwise, and Emma slapped her hand over his mouth, laughing. “I love you,” she relented at once.

“Say it again,” he entreated softly.

“I love you,” she confessed with feeling, and then, God help her, she said it again, “I love you, Lucien.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked as she bent to kiss him freely of her own accord.

It was the sweetest, most heart wrenching moment of Emma’s entire life. Who could have known a kiss could hold so much promise?

His hand went about her nape, holding her close, tasting her mouth with wild abandon, giving her the most wicked thrill. Beneath her, his body stirred and she exhaled in surprise and sat up straight astride him, looking down into his handsome face.

All laughter died abruptly as Emma and Lucien’s gazes locked and held.

Emma wasn’t a child by far. She knew what came next, and she welcomed it wholly. She smiled gently. “You may indeed have to rush me to the altar,” she warned.

He returned her smile. “I am fully prepared to do so without even posting the banns.”

Emma giggled and cupped his cheek, making certain that this moment was not a wonderful dream. “What now?” she asked soberly.

“Now… my dear sweet Emma… I’m going to teach you
all
my wicked ways,” he said and shifted beneath her.

“All of them?” she asked coyly.

“
All
of them,” he replied, and just so she would not mistake his meaning, he slid his hand up to cup one delectable breast. She gasped in surprise and arched into his touch and Lucien groaned deep in his throat. As he’d anticipated, her breast filled his hand perfectly, as though it were made only for him—and it was, he acknowledged, kneading softly.

“Teach me everything,” she whispered, shifting instinctively atop him, fitting her body more intimately over his, and he realized in that instant that he had quite misjudged his fiancé. She was a woman to her core.

And she needn’t ask him twice.

His body thrilling to the feel of her atop him, he guided her down so he could kiss her thoroughly, raining tiny kisses along the fullness of her lips, into the corners of her mouth, and then along her neck, and down… until he found precisely what he sought. Again, she arched at the touch, and moaned softly as he lifted himself to her breast and drew one nipple gently between his lips.

God’s teeth, but he’d waited a lifetime for this, he realized. In that moment, all trace of every other woman was eradicated from his brain; only Emma existed.

With his free hand he cherished her body, his fingers playing lightly across the length of her gown looking for the hem of her gown. He raised the delicate cloth slowly, and once again groaned with pleasure when she didn’t stop him. “Are you certain?” he asked thickly.

“Are you certain?” she asked in return.

“More certain than
anything
ever in my life!”

“Then teach me
everything
,” she entreated, and lifted up her own gown. The sight of her full breasts, illuminated by the moonlight, her skin perfect and her nipples puckered with anticipation, hardened him fully.

Driven now, his fingers sought her woman’s curls, wanting to taste her body with a fervor unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Emma couldn’t think to protest... couldn’t think to consider the consequences. Couldn’t think at all.

She lifted herself into his palm as he touched her… there. Such wicked, wicked pleasure, he was giving her—she couldn’t bear it.

He caressed her with his thumb, his eyes closing and his nostrils flaring like a hunter scenting his prey, and he drew circles around the bud of her womanhood.

Lucien felt himself pulsing beneath the weight of her body as he brought forth her wetness. And then, hoping not to shock her, but mindless with desire, he drew his fingers to his lips to suckle the sweet moisture.

She tasted like heaven. His Emma. His sweet, sweet, Emma.

She nearly unmanned him on the spot as she bent to kiss him fully upon the lips, the shocking gesture more erotic and powerful in its sweetness than any masterful courtesan could ever have elicited from him.

In one swift movement, he turned her upon her back, and began to free himself from the gaol of his clothing as she watched.

She was so ready for him that it was all he could do to remove his breeches quickly enough, and still, with that brief separation, she did not protest.

Emma watched Lucien with a sense of wonder. His body was sculpted and hard, so unlike she had imagined. He straddled her, peering down at her hungrily and her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat.

She didn’t fear this, she told herself. Though the look in his eyes reminded her of a hungry wolf’s, it was also possessive and full of adoration.

Finally, beyond a shadow of doubt, she knew… he was hers, and she was his.

When he lifted himself atop her, Emma deliriously welcomed his weight.

Pressing himself atop her, Lucien groaned in anticipation. Nestling himself against her softness, he rocked against her, his movements slow and erotic and he whispered, “Let me love you this way always. Bring sunshine into my life, laughter into my house, joy and song into all my Christmases.” He slipped lower, settling himself between her thighs.

“Always,” she promised and parted her legs to receive him.

Lucien groaned with pleasure and she whimpered softly as he entered her. He reached the barrier of her maidenhood, and he bent to stifle her soft cries with his mouth.

Unable to bear it any longer, knowing it would go easier for her if he pierced her quickly, he cried out and thrust deeply, breaching her maidenhead in one powerful drive. And then he loved her slowly, reveling in her body, kissing her thoroughly, giving her his heart.

When Emma cried out softly and her body tightened beneath him, he thrust his head back and cried out in ecstasy. His body shuddered violently with pleasure and he clung to her possessively.

Afterward, he held her close as his body continued to convulsed with pleasure.

Moonlight spilled in from the open window to highlight her face and her tears—happy tears. As far as he was concerned, she was his wife from this moment forward. “Merry Christmas,” Lucien whispered huskily, reaching up to kiss her tears away.