Read One Perfect Christmas (Short Story) Online
Authors: Stefanie Sloane
One Perfect Christmas (Short Story) (7 page)
She clucked impatiently at Horatio, Reginald, and Fickle to move back so she might
open the entrance. “I can—and I do,” she answered, pulling the door with such force
that it slammed against the unpainted sides of the barn.
The animals spooked at the sound and raced inside, narrowly missing Jane.
“He is, at this very moment, celebrating Christmas with your family—”
“Stop!” Jane cried, holding up her hands defensively. “Lord Needles asked if … if
I loved another. I tried to lie—I wanted to more than anything. But I couldn’t.”
“Jane.”
“Please, let me be. I’m begging you. If you ever cared one whit for me, go.”
Humiliation washed over Jane and she dropped her head, unable to bear the sight of
Lucas. “Go. I will see to the horses and join you shortly.”
God, but he’d been a fool. Lucas took a knife to his sodden breeches and ripped the
seams, letting the pieces fall to the floor. He moved on to his cravat, one nick of
the blade splitting the ruined fabric, then his shirt.
If only he’d told her of his feelings sooner. It would’ve saved them both torment
and sorrow. Lucas shrugged out of his coat and removed the shirt and cravat. He stood
there naked, only the cold air in the cottage reminding him to move. He’d allowed
fear to cloud his judgment and now Jane was paying the price.
Lucas walked to the hearth, no more than five steps across in the small, humble house
occupied by his family’s tenant, Mr. James. The fire crackled in the stone fireplace
and warmed his frigid limbs. He took a frayed quilt from the only chair in the room
and wrapped it around his waist.
Just then the front door opened and Jane appeared. She hesitated on the threshold,
staring at his bare chest as if it frightened her.
“My clothes were wet, and ruined beyond repair,” Lucas explained, crossing his arms
over his chest. “I would have borrowed something from my tenant, Mr. James, but he
is less than half my size.”
Jane nodded, then cast her gaze to the floor as she stepped all the way inside and
shut the door behind her. “And where is he?”
“With his daughter’s family in Liverpool for the holiday,” Lucas answered, frustrated
by the trivial conversation.
“Well, I’m sure his daughter is glad to have him.”
She fumbled with the bonnet ribbons knotted beneath her chin. When both refused to
give, she set to work on her boots, bending down to unlace the ruined leather shoes.
“Jane,” Lucas murmured, his heart beginning to beat faster. “There is a real possibility
we will be stranded here until the storm passes. I, for one, do not intend to waste
time with idle chatter.”
She stepped out of the right boot, steadying herself against a small table before
removing the left. “There is nothing of importance to discuss, Lucas, I assure you.”
She turned her concentration back to the bonnet ribbons, but once again failed to
part them. “Let’s not speak of things that could ruin our friendship. I cannot be
without you. I must have you—as my friend.”
He took one step toward her and then another.
She retreated until her back settled against the door.
“I don’t believe such a plan will work,” Lucas replied, his pulse throbbing in his
ears. Fear prickled the back of his neck and he lifted a hand to massage it away
“And why is that?” Jane asked, a tremor in her voice.
“Because I cannot have you only as a friend, Jane. I want you as my wife—no, I
need
you to be my wife,” he answered, close enough to touch her.
He gently moved her hands away and took up the ribbons, deftly unknotting the wet
silk and removing her bonnet. “I am terrified of my feelings for you, Jane. Have been
since that night in London. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? God, I’ve been such a coward.
Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know that I can,” she murmured, looking up at him with her eyes full of wonder.
“Do you mean to tell me that all of this,” she paused, gesturing with a sweep of her
hand to indicate the cottage and the snow-covered landscape beyond its small, square
windows. “Nearly freezing to death, riding in my morning gown atop Flicker … coming
within moments of allowing a man I do not love to court me. All of it could have been
avoided if only you’d not been so afraid?”
“I cannot say how sorry I am,” Lucas answered, bowing his head with regret.
Jane lifted his chin with her finger and forced him to look up at her. Tears danced
just at the corners of her blue eyes. “No. I do not want your sorrow, Lucas. I’ve
waited all my life for you to realize how perfect I am for you. Such patience deserves
a monumental declaration of love—complete with groveling at the end, if deemed necessary.
And it must begin with ‘I love you, Jane Merriweather.’ ”
He blew out a breath in sweet relief and grinned like a silly, foolish schoolboy.
“I love you, Jane Merriweather. I do. Though it has taken me a very long time to realize
just how perfect you are for me, please know that my fruitless search the world over
for happiness only makes this moment that much more important. I want to take care
of you, to build a life with you, to grow old with you, Jane. You are my home, if
you’ll have me.”
Jane placed her soft, delicate palms on his face and drew him to her, her tears now
flowing freely. “You do not need to ask, Lucas. I love you. That will never change.”
He reverently touched his lips to hers, drinking in the truth and sheer beauty of
the moment.
Jane shivered against him and leaned in closer, her sodden pelisse touching his bare
skin.
Lucas backed up, taking Jane with him. “Come warm yourself by the fire. I’ll find
a quilt for you.”
Jane untied her mantle and let it drop to the carpet. “But you already have one,”
she replied, removing her sodden gloves. “Surely it is big enough to share.”
Lucas watched as she slowly turned her back, then looked at him over her shoulder.
“Will you see to my buttons?”
His cock hardened at her words. “Jane …” His mouth seemed entirely separated from
his brain, logical thinking far beyond his capabilities. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she answered simply.
Possessiveness roared to life in Lucas, every muscle in his body begging to take hold
of her. To claim her as his own.
“Lucas, please tell me you want me,” Jane said quietly, turning her head to fully
face the fireplace once more. “I cannot endure not knowing.”
He restrained himself, his hands shaking with need as he set to work on her buttons.
“It is requiring every last ounce of my willpower to stop myself from ravaging you,
right here, on the floor, Jane. I want you with everything I am, but I will not have
your first time be without gentleness and love.”
He finished with the tidy row of buttons and her gown sagged at her shoulders. Jane
yanked at the fabric as well as her shift, pulling both down, over her hips, until
they pooled at her feet. “I’ve loved you for years, Lucas. And in that time, do you
know how often I wondered what it would be like to make love with you?”
Lucas lowered to his knees, then reached for her garter. “You are playing with fire,
Jane.”
“Too many to count,” she continued, her voice breathy with desire.
He snatched the garter, untying it with one pull. “Jane,” he murmured. Begged.
He freed the other garter and rolled both stockings down her legs.
She turned to face him. Steadying herself with one hand on his shoulder, she stepped
out of the silken fabric, then knelt down, her breasts skimming the sensitive flesh
on his chest. “I want all of you, Lucas. And I want you now. Burn me. Brand me. Make
me yours.”
Jane untucked the quilt at his waist and froze, staring with wide eyes.
Lucas lifted the fabric with both hands and tossed it so that it covered the worn
carpet. A low, guttural growl was all he could offer in reply. He needed his mouth
on her sweet skin. His cock nestled within her tight folds.
He caught Jane up and lowered her to the quilt, then rolled her beneath him, grinning
when she gasped with surprise. “I warned you,” he teased, bending to caress one perfect,
firm breast with his mouth.
He swirled his tongue around the rosy-hued tip, the sensitive skin pebbling in response
to his sensual onslaught. She tasted of bergamot and crisp winter air. Of desire and
deep, fiery need.
Jane gasped a second time and arched her back, her breath catching when he lightly
grazed her nipple with his teeth.
He moved to the other breast, mercilessly blowing cool air over the creamy skin until
the nipple hardened. He took it in his mouth, feasting on the tip as Jane writhed
beneath him.
She pressed her palms to his chest, her fingertips exploring his skin. Each touch
drew his arousal tighter, his cock nudging against her belly, demanding more.
Lucas nipped and licked a tortuous path up the slim column of her neck to reach her
lush, full lips. His tongue caressed the seam until she acquiesced and opened her
mouth to his. He stroked her tongue with slow flicks that soon turned to heated plundering.
She matched his enthusiasm with unschooled vigor, sucking, laving, touching, teasing.
Lucas smoothed his hand down her lush curves and found the hot, damp folds between
her legs, brushing his thumb over the sensitive hidden bud.
Jane’s hands clutched frantically at his waist as he massaged the slick mound. She
parted her legs, her knees bending as she thrust in time to his wicked assault.
Lucas broke their kiss and stared into her sultry eyes. “Two can play at that game,”
he murmured, nudging her tight, wet opening with his cock.
Her hands lowered to cup his ass, Lucas bucking at the unexpected touch. She squeezed,
her nails gently scoring him. “Take me.”
Lucas braced a palm on each side of her and lifted his upper torso higher.
Jane brought her hand between them, gently grasping the length of him and guiding
him into her. Her breath sped up as he flexed his hips, shuddering as he slowly, carefully,
sank home.
He just as slowly withdrew, her muscles contracting, squeezing him in protest.
Jane’s eyes closed as he stroked inside her again and her fingers clenched his skin
each time he buried himself to the hilt. Her breasts bobbed with each thrust and Lucas
bent his head to lick first one nipple, then the other.
Heat bloomed, roared through his veins, and he quickened his pace. She matched him,
a frantic need building second by second.
Jane wrapped her arms around him and her legs tightened around his waist, her head
shifting against the bedding as a cry of release tore from her. Her climax reverberated
throughout her body, sending spasms of pleasure from her shoulders down to her toes.
It was the single most beautiful sight Lucas had ever seen. He drove into her, his
hips pumping in time to the need coursing through his veins.
Jane urged him on, lifting her hips to meet each heavy thrust that buried him deep
in her moist, sweet sheath.
The cottage faded away. As did the snow and any memory of life before that very moment,
until Lucas could hear only the pounding in his ears demanding release.
Jane cupped his testicles in her palm and Lucas exploded inside of her. His climax
stole everything from him but pure, simple pleasure.
Jane pulled him down until he blanketed her, his face level with hers. She wound her
legs about his and held him
tightly as the haze of lust and need mellowed to a profound sense of homecoming and
perfection. “Happy Christmas, Lucas,” she whispered.
Lucas reverently kissed Jane’s temple and smiled down at her. “Happy Christmas, my
love.”
Read on for an exciting sneak peek at
The Scoundrel Takes a Bride
Stefanie Sloane’s next Regency Rogues novel
Published by Ballantine Books
Available wherever books are sold
May 15
T
HE
P
RIMROSE
I
NN
E
DGWARE
M
IDDLESEX
O
UTER
L
ONDON
The Honorable Nicholas Bourne could not decide which was worse: the rattle of metal
rings over the curtain rod as the rough linen hangings were pulled back, the excruciatingly
loud crash of the shutters slamming against the outer stucco and timber siding of
the Primrose Inn, or the sudden flash of blinding sunlight.
“Mrs. Brimm, are you trying to kill me?” he asked the innkeeper’s wife in a low, even
tone as he willed the relentless pounding in his head to stop.
Something soft yet painfully unwelcome landed on his face in response to his query.
Nicholas cautiously opened his eyes but could see nothing through the folds of his
linen shirt. “I see no need for clothing at this juncture, my good woman, as I intend
to stay abed for at least another two hours. Now, off with you. I’m sure there are
other guests who would welcome your attention.”
“I am neither Mrs. Brimm nor am I trying to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”
Nicholas startled at the sound of the woman’s voice.
He grabbed the bedcovers, yanking them higher over his bare chest as he levered himself
upright. “Sophia?”
Lady Sophia Afton stood in front of the open window, backlit by the late morning sun.
The warm golden rays silhouetted her graceful form against the gloom and dark of the
rented room. All about, empty bottles of brandy and cognac, sheets of foolscap and
discarded quills, and Nicholas’s clothing were carelessly tossed hither and yon—the
evidence of a messy and misused life.
And in the middle of it all stood Sophia. The faint pink of her rosebud printed gown
appeared to be the exact hue of her full lips. Her dark hair, gleaming like autumn’s
burnished oak leaves, was artfully pinned up, a few stray curls expertly arranged
about her face. And below the feathered arch of brows, her eyes were the deep green
of emeralds, framed with dark lashes and spaced just far enough apart to give her
an exotic air. One could get lost in those immeasurable depths, a fact Nicholas knew
all too well.
Sophia stole his breath away. She always had. And without even knowing that she did
so. He’d long ago learned it was useless to fight the fascination. His sanity would
return again. Or not. It did not matter in the least.
“Surely you’re not surprised,” she said, slowly walking toward the bed until she stood
within touching distance. “Someone had to fetch you.”
Nicholas fought the urge to disappear beneath the coarse bed linens, aware that doing
so would only make him appear even more the fool. “Well,
someone
usually means Carrington or my brother. How on earth did you draw the short straw—and
where’s your Mrs. Kirk? This is feeling more scandalous by the moment.” He gestured
abruptly. “Turn around, Sophia, while I make myself decent.”
With an unfathomable glance from beneath her lashes, she did as he bade her, turning
to face the opposite wall.
Nicholas tossed back the covers and swung his bare feet to the plank floor. He swore
under his breath as the sudden movement sent his head spinning. Then swore again as
he unearthed his shirt from the pile of clothing flung carelessly on the edge of the
bed and pulled it over his head, tugging it into place.
“Mrs. Kirk is waiting in the coach so that we may speak privately,” Sophia replied,
her back to him as Nicholas buttoned his breeches. “As for Dash, he’s celebrating
his wedding trip.”
“Dammit,” Nicholas cursed for the third time in as many moments. “I thought he was
to be leg-shackled on the twenty-fourth.”
Sophia turned back to face him, pity pooling in her eyes. “He was, Nicholas. Today
is the twenty-sixth.”
He froze, staring at her, shame snaking its way around his heart. He’d lost a week.
In the past there had been a day here or there that had disappeared into the ether,
consumed by drink and his need to forget. Never before had there been so many lost
days in a row. Too many days.
Sophia crossed the room to where a slat-backed chair stood. She turned it around and
clasped the worn wood, tipping the chair onto two legs and dragging it toward the
bed.
Nicholas winced as the scrape of wood against wood set hammers pounding inside his
skull.
She placed the chair to face Nicholas, then took her seat.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you up to, Sophia?”
“Do you promise to listen?” she implored, extending her arm, her palm up in silent
plea.
He scrubbed his hand across his unshaven jaw. “Are we children again, then?” he growled.
“Do you promise, Nicholas?” Sophia pressed. “Or have I come all this way for nothing?”
“Honestly, Sophia,” Nicholas muttered, reaching out and taking her hand in his. “I
don’t recall inviting you, so yes, I would say you have.”
Sophia laced her fingers with his and shook four times, just as she’d done during
their childhood. “Say it.”
“I promise to listen with open ears, wide eyes, and a closed mouth,” Nicholas bit
out, his displeasure with her presence clearly conveyed in every last syllable. “There,
will that do? They’re only words—strung together by children, if you’ll remember.
Hardly anything that would hold water.”
It killed him to touch her, her soft, small hand in his akin to torture. Yet he wouldn’t
let go. He knew he would never be an honorable man. Never marry nor know the joys
of family. He would take his love for Sophia to his deathbed. Even if it destroyed
him, which, he ventured to guess, was precisely what would happen.
“Thank you, Nicholas,” she sighed, relief easing the strain from her countenance.
She squeezed his hand in hers, then let go.
Nicholas lowered his arm, the tips of his fingers still tingling where they’d gripped
Sophia’s mere seconds before. “Well, out with it, then. I don’t have all day.”
“I need your help.”
Nicholas stared hard at the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d often imagined what it
would feel like to hear Sophia say such words to him. And the emotion was nothing
like the growing sense of unease that crept up his spine now.
“And my brother?” he asked bitterly, desperate to maintain some sense of dignity though
he knew it to be
a pointless struggle. “I would venture to guess Langdon would be more suitable. Or
sober, at the very least.”
“I do not need Langdon. I need you.”
Sophia folded her hands in her lap and stared at Nicholas. When she’d thrown back
the curtains earlier and turned to look at him, she’d been stunned, frozen into stillness
and too distracted to move or speak. The sunlight had arrowed through the window behind
her and directly onto the bed. In that brief moment before Nicholas recognized her,
she’d been shocked at the powerful, dangerous man sprawled on the rumpled bed.
The blankets were pushed to his waist, his upper torso bare. Though she’d known him
since they were children, he was suddenly unrecognizable. She’d been unable to look
away from the flex and smooth ripple of well-defined muscles in his chest and arms
as he pushed himself upright. It was only the sound of his sleep-roughened, deep voice
as he spoke her name that convinced her she’d not wandered into the wrong room by
mistake.
Now that she was nearer, she could see deep crease marks from the crude inn bedding
that ran the length of the left side of his face. He’d clearly been abed for some
time and yet the dark crescents beneath his eyes intimated exhaustion.
An air of dissipation and soul-deep weariness shrouded his handsome countenance. She
wanted badly to know why he felt driven to drink when it only led to this—a dank room
in an unremarkable inn, surrounded by nothing that could hope to bring him any peace.
Despite their shared history, she felt a reluctance to question him. He’d always held
some part of himself back, denying Sophia access for his own personal reasons.
And it appeared his years in India had only increased the territory she was not allowed
to traverse.
He rubbed his knuckles over his jaw for the second time in as many minutes, the muscles
beneath the unshaven skin rigid. “I find such a notion impossible to believe.”
He was clearly exhausted. Still, there was more. There always was with Nicholas. Her
presence at the Primrose wasn’t merely an irritation to the man; was he angry? Or
perhaps embarrassed?
Sophia felt her nerves tighten with the queer tension that always accompanied their
interactions. She was never quite sure how he would respond to her. He was a wild
animal and she the hapless human who’d had the nerve to disturb him. It could not
be said that Sophia ever felt fearful in Nicholas’s presence, though at the moment
the sudden quickening of her pulse gave her reason to pause.
Theirs had never been an easy friendship. Her unqualified need to be near him matched
in intensity only by his impatience for her very existence. Sophia had come to believe
that he truly disliked her, although she’d never been able to discover what she’d
done to earn his ire.
Despite the distance he kept between them, she found herself unable to ignore the
inexplicable pull his presence always exerted on her. “Langdon would refuse me. And
as much as I chafe at the very idea, I cannot do this alone,” Sophia replied honestly,
willing her heartbeat to slow.
Nicholas captured her with a look of shock. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I don’t believe that
I heard you correctly. Did you just say that you could not accomplish something on
your own?”
His eyes glinted with sudden amusement. There he was, the Nicholas she liked best.
Capricious. Irreverent. Clever. He was the only man who could always make
her laugh, no matter the circumstances. “I missed you terribly while you were away
in India. Do you know, I believe I didn’t laugh once while you were gone,” Sophia
countered, relief and an affectionate smile curving her mouth. “But I will not relent,
Nicholas.”
He crossed his arms over his expansive chest. “Do stop wasting my time, Sophia. Tell
me what you’ve come for.”
She peered down at the planked floor, wincing at his impatience. “Very well,” she
began, looking up and fixing him with a somber stare. “Now that Dash is married, someone
will need to help you in the search for my mother’s killer. And that someone, I believe,
must be me.”
Nicholas uncrossed his arms and propped his elbows on his knees, a menacing glint
in his deep brown eyes. “No.”
“I’ve valuable experience,” she explained earnestly.
“Let me see if I understand: a bit of secretarial work at the Bow Street office somehow
qualifies you to hunt down a monster—who’s ordered the killings of numerous people,
one of whom, in case you’ve forgotten, was your mother,” Nicholas lashed out, raking
both hands through his hair until the rumpled black locks stood up on end. “Did you
know that Smeade attacked Lady Carrington? Nearly choked the life from her because
he’d been paid to do so. His superior will stop at nothing to preserve his anonymity.
And you suggest I take you on—a woman, for Christ’s sake—of all people?”
Sophia jumped up, kicking back and sending the chair skittering across the scarred
floor. “You’ve no right …” she spat out before forcing herself to breathe deeply.
“I understand the danger, Nicholas,” she started again, her tone controlled. “It’s
precisely why I did not ask for Langdon’s help. He never would have agreed to—”
“But you think I will? Am I that careless, then?” Nicholas interrupted bitterly.
Sophia reached out to him, flinching involuntarily when Nicholas jerked away to avoid
her touch. “No, you’ve misunderstand me,” she begged, her restraint slipping. “Carelessness
is not the issue here. I am asking you to do what you know is right.”
“You cannot ask this of me,” Nicholas asserted standing up from the bed and roughly
grabbing hold of her arms.
Sophia instinctively jerked back, the sensation of Nicholas so close troubling to
her rattled mind and body. A raw, pleasing heat ignited where his fingers and palms
touched her. Warmth traveled in rivers through her, her skin suddenly tingling with
sensitivity and need. She fought the urge to lean forward, to experience more of the
new, unsettling feeling that quickened her breath and sent her heart pounding. He
loomed over her, too close, too male, and impossible to ignore. She willed herself
to be still, refusing to retreat.
He loosened his grip on her bare skin and closed his eyes. “Please.”
“We’re alike, you and I,” Sophia said with quiet conviction, though her heart raced
with aberrant thrill. “Somehow Dash managed to escape. And Langdon can see a future—in
the distance, true, but it’s there. As for the two of us? We can’t let go of the past.
And we’ll never be able to until my mother’s killer is captured.”
Nicholas rubbed his thumbs over the sensitive bare skin of Sophia’s inner arm. Her
eyes fluttered closed, the scent of his spiced soap filling her every sense. The slow,
sensual drag of his thumb was mesmerizing. She ached to feel his skin on hers in more
intimate places. She angled her head slightly so that the slim column of her neck
was exposed to him.
