A Season for Christmas (Desire and Discipline #3)

Chapter 6

6

Catherine

They had dinner in Samuel’s room. Anna chose to go downstairs and eat with Samuel’s groom, Lewis, in the common room, leaving her and Samuel alone in his room. As a widow, it was not very scandalous. She got the impression that Anna was doing her best to give them time and space alone, which she appreciated, even as it amused her. She would not have thought Anna would have a penchant for matchmaking, but she appreciated it, regardless.

There were other matters at hand as well, though.

“Tell me about Clarence,” she requested. With Anna in the carriage with them, some of Samuel’s stories had included the then-heir, now-duke, but of course, they had not been able to openly discuss the mission they’d been sent on. While she might request Anna keep her ears open for any gossip, she was not going to talk out of turn about the investigation.

After all, Clarence might be innocent, and she did not want Anna inadvertently casting suspicion on him to his own servants. Nor did she want to accidentally put Anna in any danger if it turned out Samuel did not know his friend as well as he thought, and the man turned out to be a murderer.

Samuel huffed a breath with just a touch of exasperation, leaning back and raking his hands through his hair. His mostly finished supper languished in front of him. She had waited until they were done eating, and he had been set at ease on purpose. This was hardly going to be an easy topic, as he considered the man a friend.

“There are not too many other stories I have about him, as we have kept our contact to letters over the years.” He frowned. “The man I knew… he could have never killed his father. The two were not close, but neither were they at odds. And Gregory was harmless. A lover, not a fighter, is how he would describe himself.”

“He never got into a fight? No boxing, no fencing?” she pressed.

Samuel made a face.

“Fencing, because he had to, but no, he was not much of a boxer. Too concerned about messing up his pretty face.” A nostalgic smile curved Samuel’s lips as he ran his finger around his own face. “Besides, if every man who boxed or fenced was a murderer, we’d be overrun with them. And we are not.”

“No, but some enjoy it more than others,” she pointed out. “But no, he does not sound like the bloodthirsty type. Unless someone damaged his face?”

Samuel snorted.

“He does not like that, but he does not retaliate, either. I accidentally popped him a good one in the nose once, made him bleed like a stuck pig, and all he did was go running for the ice, then proceeded to lecture me for a good hour on being more careful with my fists. That was back in our school days.”

“But he could have changed.”

“He could have, though I struggle to see it.”

So did Catherine from Samuel’s descriptions, but she was withholding judgment until she met the man himself.

“I can see him arranging things to harm innocents even less.” Samuel shook his head. “Gregory does not have a mean bone in his body and avoids any kind of confrontation. When asked to do something he does not want to do, he does not say no or deny you, but you will not see him again for a while. It is the most frustrating thing about him. But he is also very good at helping others work their way through a conflict, if he must, though he tends to avoid any kind of tension or anger, whether it is directed at him or not. If his father angered him or was angry at him, he would just avoid his father.”

Hm. One could say a bit of the same about Samuel. Rather than watch her marry another man, he’d left the country and had not come back until now. She was not going to bring that up, though. After all, it was not quite the same situation.

But she understood his point. Just as he had not confronted Lord Cross or her parents—or even her—Gregory would not confront his own father. She wondered if Samuel saw something of himself in Gregory and if that motivated part of his defense.

Suddenly leaning forward, Samuel put his hand on the table halfway between them.

“I would never bring you with me if I thought you were going to be in any danger,” he said earnestly, his gaze boring into hers, filled with sincerity .

Catherine blinked. She had not even thought of the possibility.

“Of course not,” she said, reaching forward to put her hand atop his in reassurance. “I never thought you would. That would be entirely against your character.”

“Thank you for that.” He turned his hand over, so their palms were together. Heat curled in her stomach as the warmth between them grew. His fingers tips curled around her hand, the tip of his forefinger stroking the soft spot on the inside of her wrist. Arousal flared, her mouth going dry as her body responded to his touch.

“Gregory is not the only person I have not seen in such a long time… though you have gone through many changes, I would say the core of you is still intact.”

“Oh?” She was suddenly intrigued at how he viewed her. In many ways, he had not changed. He was still forthright, confident, and flirtatious—if anything, he was more so those things than before. But she knew that she was no longer the shrinking debutante, doing her best to fit the mold her parents tried to wedge her into, no longer desperately trying to be whoever her suitors wanted her to be so she could escape them.

In many ways, Samuel had been the only person she’d felt like she could be herself with when she was a debutante, yet, back then, she had not truly known who she was. It had taken marriage, disappointments as she was unable to get pregnant, her husband turning to other women, and his subsequent death for her to even begin to explore who she was on her own and what she wanted out of her life.

Becoming a widow had given her freedom she’d never expected to have, and she’d grabbed onto it with both hands.

But how did Samuel see her now ?

He smiled, an easy, charming smile with a light in his eyes, his finger still making little strokes against her sensitive skin and sending little tingles along her arm to her core.

“You are more self-assured, more settled in your person, but you are still thoughtful and generous. You still sit back and watch a situation before deciding whether or not you are going to insert yourself… and how. You still do not jump into things very quickly.”

Unlike him. Samuel had been much faster than her to make his decisions, and she did not think that had changed.

“Until now,” she murmured, making him chuckle.

“Even now. You did not immediately accept the invitation to accompany me. You had to think about it.”

That was true, which made her feel a little better. She’d had to think quickly, but she had taken the time to think about it. And she’d taken the time to think about what she wanted to happen on this trip.

If Anna came back to the room to find it empty, she would just retire to her own room. She was discreet, though Catherine had never pushed the boundaries of her maid’s discretion. But Anna had never given her any reason to think that she would betray a confidence.

The time for thinking was over. She did not want to think anymore.

Catherine stood, her hand still in Samuel’s. His eyes lit up, but he did not stand the way a gentleman normally would. Instead, he watched her as she moved to the side, her fingers tightening around his wrist, then stepped toward him. The fact he was waiting for her, waiting to see what she would do, despite the instincts that would normally have had him jumping to his feet, intrigued her.

He was waiting for her lead.

Which did not feel like the Samuel she had known… an d at the same time, it did. While he had always made the moves in their courtship, as a gentleman should, he had also waited for her decisions, had he not? If she had been more secure, more confident, if she had taken the lead, even as a debutante, he would have followed her. He would have followed her all the way to Gretna Green and married her.

That was not in the cards now, but so many other things that had not been an option before were now open to them.

Catherine moved his hand, forcing him to turn in his chair—no, he moved his chair along with him, the wood scraping over the carpet so his body was now facing hers. That was even better for what she intended.

She slid onto his lap, letting go of his hand so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

“I am tired of thinking,” she murmured and bent her head to his.

Samuel

It felt like a dream he’d once had.

Catherine on his lap, her soft curves pressed against his body, her hands on the back of his neck, lips against his, with her tongue softly teasing them open. When she’d been a debutante, he’d stolen a kiss or two. There had been an element of danger to those kisses, of anxiety, even as part of him had hoped they might be caught. Not that he’d wanted her ruined; he’d just wanted her to be his, and even then, he’d known—deep down—her parents would never choose him for her husband.

He'd known, deep down, that Catherine would not have the backbone to defy them.

Not then .

But now?

Now, she was her own woman. Confident. Assured. And when he opened his mouth to hers, their tongues danced, allowing him to taste her in a way he’d never gotten to when he was courting her. Samuel groaned, his hands going around her, shifting her on his lap as his cock filled, coming to attention with alacrity in response to this sudden change.

Catherine was still careful, still measured in her decisions, but it was true she had changed as well. Before, she would never have been the aggressor. Every time he’d kissed her, she’d needed time to think about what they had just done. How it had made her feel.

Obviously, she had no such need for a break now.

Samuel did not want to think about how many men she’d kissed since he’d stolen her first.

It does not matter.

I had her first, and I shall have her last.

Though he was not going to be telling her the latter part yet. He did not want to scare her off. Even though, with her on his lap, in his arms, he already knew he was willing to do whatever he needed to do in order to keep her there. He could take any flogging, any pain, anything she demanded of him… as long as he never had to let her go again.

He should not have gone running after seeing her with the Duke of Kent. To be fair, he’d been wrestling with both jealousy and the realization she’d changed far more than he’d anticipated… Not to mention his own insecurities over whether or not he could do what she wanted…

But he felt it now, deep inside himself, the utter surety of how she fit against him, the way there had always been a space open for her in his heart.

His arms tightened about her, and he felt her moan against his lips as she shifted on his lap again. There was pressure against his cock for a moment, then it lifted as she did, rearranging herself so that she was kneeling over his lap, one leg on either side of his thighs.

Samuel shifted his hands down, filling them with her bottom, and he squeezed as he pulled her more tightly against him. Need surged, hot and furiously demanding, wanting more of her.

Her hands were on either side of his face, sliding back into his hair as she kissed him, matching his need with her own. He groaned, his hips thrusting upward, trying to rub against her, but the position was too awkward.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, reaching up to unbutton the back of her dress. Was he making assumptions? Yes. But she was the one who had climbed onto his lap in the first place.

“Too many clothes,” she muttered, tugging at his cravat.

Thank God they were on the same page.