Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Was it only an hour ago that Eleanor sat with the children for an early supper? She’d let them pick their favorite dessert as an unacknowledged thank you for their meddling. This was all their doing. Would the Duke be leaving his house-party to spend the evening with her without that little sprig of mistletoe? She rather doubted it.

To her surprise, the children hadn’t even asked to wait up to visit with the Duke. They went to bed like tired little lambs. Both of them wanting an outcome she was too scared to even contemplate. Why was the Duke paying her attention? Was she just a distraction for this week? She rather thought he’d paid for enough distractions. So why now?

Sarah took her time dressing Eleanor’s hair, making her stomach flutter like she’d swallowed a thousand butterflies. On Sarah’s advice, she’d not worn a corset and that thrilled and scared her. What was she expecting would happen this evening, and what did she want to happen? It had been too long since she’d shared any warm, intimate contact with anyone.

If she gave in to her need for sensuality, what would Ambrose think of that brazen behavior?

Not wishing to seem too eager, she waited for Joseph to show Ambrose to the drawing room before she made her way there. He came to meet her at the door and pointed to the mistletoe.

“This sprig is very well placed,” Ambrose said, pulling her toward him for a kiss. But this was all happening far too fast, so she turned her cheek before slipping round him into the room.

She ignored the disappointed sigh issued behind her and she took a seat on the chaise lounge. She didn’t wish him to think she wasn’t open to a seduction just to slow him down somewhat. This would be her very first dalliance. She just wanted him to understand she wasn’t here simply for the taking. Not like the ladies he probably invited to his home for his party.

“Would you pour yourself a drink and one for me too?” she asked as she took her seat. He turned from the doorway, but not before pulling the door closed behind him. He took his time seeing to the drinks before crossing the room to stand in front of her.

“May I?” he asked. When she nodded, he took the seat next to her and handed her a glass of sherry. She tried to relax and was thankful to have something to hold.

He cleared his throat. “You don’t seem very comfortable with my presence here. Have I misread the situation?”

She could feel heat sweeping up her body to her face. She was a mature widow, not some silly, shy debutante. She looked at him and decided honesty was the only option. “I’ve never considered taking a lover. Lord Redington is looking for any excuse to take Harry from my care. My son’s happiness is my only priority.”

“Why have you never remarried? That would stop Redington.”

His question sounded full of pity, but also a bit of anger on her behalf. She sat up straight as she answered. “The terms of my son’s guardianship require Redington’s approval of any man I choose to remarry, and only then will the guardianship of my son pass to my new husband.” She saw the anger swarm across Ambrose’s face. “Redington is reluctant to relinquish his control and as such, he has given me a list of men who I may select a husband from. None of the men on the list appeal to me.” At his silence, she added, “I didn’t have a say in the choice of my first husband. I won’t marry again unless I do.”

Under his breath, she heard him say, “Sometimes the choices you make don’t always work out either.”

Her hand slid along the couch and covered his. She thought it probably worse to love someone with your full heart and then have it stabbed with betrayal.

He cleared his throat and squeezed her hand. “Then why are you risking this liaison with me?”

A tear slipped down her face. “Because I’m lonely, and I thought no one would even notice you were here as we are neighbors, and I look after Lillian. No one would believe that the week of your party, you’d rather spend the night with a woman like me.”

“Woman like you?” He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry. I think you know that I’d much rather spend my time here. You are a beautiful woman in every way a woman can be beautiful.” He rocked her gently, as if she were a child.

Warily she searched his face, darkened in the shadows cast from the fire behind them, but it was the faint line of stubble along his jaw lending his handsome features a dangerous intensity that saw her evade his gaze. Ambrose’s vital masculinity didn’t exactly intimidate her, but she would be wise to remain cautious, for the forbidden sensations he aroused so easily in her, both frightened and titillated. The raw, powerful sexuality emanating from him was palpable. The unspoken tension between them was very real.

Restless and adrift in unfamiliar sensations, she let him guide her. He had far more experience than her. “I can’t believe you are here.”

“Give me your hand, sweeting. Touch me…” He guided her hand to his face. “I am flesh and blood, just like you. We can do whatever you’d like to do. If you simply want to be held like this all night, I’m yours.”

He made her breathless, fluttery inside. And yet there was something warm and tender in his eyes that doused her nervousness.

“This doesn’t frighten you, does it?” he asked, drawing her fingers to his lips, letting her touch him there.

“No…” she murmured truthfully.

He pulled her gently until she sat in his lap. His powerful arms came around her to cradle her tightly against his chest. His face was so close to hers she could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. Laughter lines her mother would call them, and it warmed her even more. He brought his mouth close to her and brushed her lips with his. They were warm and soft. Soft as the caress of a butterfly’s wing. An unmistakable yearning flooded Eleanor, along with an unfamiliar hunger she could only call desire.

She stared at him, dazed, as he drew back.

The husky texture of his voice stroked her as brazenly as the hand that rose to graze the line of her jaw. “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. His beauty robbed her of all speech.

He brought his head down and pressed his lips firmly against her mouth. His kiss was like nothing she had ever dreamed. His mouth was hot, wet, open against hers, bold and excitedly intimate. Her nostrils filled with his scent. Her mouth tasted the sherry, as shocking pleasure assaulted her senses.

The kiss went on, and on, and on until she felt as though she was drowning. Drowning in feelings. Drowning in emotions, she wasn’t sure she wanted to feel—yet. She could fall for this man, and that would be silly. He wasn’t interested in marrying a widow. Reluctantly, his mouth pulled away from hers and he drew in a deep breath, while capturing her gaze.

“Did you feel that? Did you feel the same fire I did? The signs are all there. Your pulse has quickened, your skin is flushed. Your body responds to mine.”

Her heart racing, Eleanor sat in his arms, trying to analyze the perfectly described sensations that were overwhelming her. She couldn’t believe she was feeling this way, experiencing powerful desire. She’d lived over six years as a widow without human touch and never missed it. Now, with one kiss, she craved Ambrose’s touch. She wanted to feel pleasure, but nothing more. With just one kiss, she was certain Ambrose could make her feel far too much.

She raised her face to him, not hiding her desire.

“Now then,” he said, smiling, “a kiss is a thing to be shared, not given nor rushed. Have you any idea,” he murmured softly, “how enchanting you are?”

The way he spoke those words, combined with his touch, set her afire.

When his lips took hers in a kiss, she knew it would be nothing at all like those her husband gave her. His mouth slanted over hers with fierce tenderness, while his hand curved round her nape, his fingers stroking her sensitive skin along her collarbone, and his other arm encircled her waist, pulling her tightly against his hard, desirable body.

Lost in a sea of pure sensation, Eleanor slid her hands up his muscular chest to wrap her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if her world depended on her staying as close to him as she could. Desire unfurled deep within her at the feel of his erection and she clung tighter to him, sliding her hands down his back to his firm buttocks.

He kissed her long and lingeringly, both gentle and persuasive. So, when he touched his tongue to her trembling lips, this time coaxing them to part, insisting actually, she eagerly admitted him. His tongue slid between her open lips, filling her mouth. His hand shifted from her waist, sliding upward toward her breasts.

He tasted of everything forbidden and everything she wanted.

She barely noted the moan of encouragement that escaped her above the pounding of her heart. Never had she let a man take such liberties and never had she wanted to let him. She hoped the kiss would never end.

She wanted this man. Wanted him here and now. Her destiny was now her own. And she wanted to grab it with everything she was.

He must have seen the longing in her eyes because he reached for her; palm curving about her jaw, he tipped up her face, drew her close. He studied her eyes—as if searching for permission, searching for what she wanted. She didn’t even contemplate hiding herself from him.

“I need you to be sure.”

Her gaze focused on his lips. She watched, mesmerized, as he drew in another breath. Opened his lips to speak again?—

She stretched up, drew his head down, brought her lips close to his and murmured, “I want you. No. I need you .”

He covered her lips with his, kissing her voraciously, all-consuming. She couldn’t even remember how he got her clothes off, but suddenly she was naked, and she reveled in the wantonness of this moment. She’d never felt so free.

Or so desired.

Ambrose’s hands slid over her bare skin like a whispered caress. Reverent. Worshipping. Claiming...

He closed his arms about her, pulling her close, molding her to him. Any suggestion of stopping him died the instant she’d set eyes upon his face, on all he said in just one hot, burning gaze.

Naked in his arms, she clung, and returned his kisses greedily, avidly—flagrantly encouraged him to seize, take, and claim.

Halting, he said, his voice a husky promise, “Mistletoe is magic.”

On a groan, he lifted her and stood, letting her slide her body down his, his hands cupping her bottom, pressing her to him, molding her softness against his erection while his tongue plundered her mouth, leaving her a mass of aching need. Heat bloomed and the fire took hold—she wanted more.

She reluctantly eased back from his kiss. “I want to see you. See if you’re all I imagined,” she added breathlessly.

With eager hands, she pushed his coat wide, trapping his arms. With a curse, he let her go, stepped back, wrenched off his coat, and flung it aside. “I want you too. I have since the day on the ice.”

In answer, she stepped back into his embrace, her lips brazenly seeking his, her hand covering his heart. She knew the man he was. Gentle, giving, kind—loving. Loving was why she found him so attractive, why he and only he would do for her journey into passion.

Eleanor acted on her newfound desire, yanking the halves of his waistcoat apart, stretching to slip it from his board shoulders. Impatiently he pulled his shirt over his head, and finally she had her hands on hot, rough skin. She ran her fingers over his chest and stomach, the muscles beneath rigid and locked. His chest was a wonder of rough hairs the color of a lion’s mane. She leaned into him and licked. He tasted divine, addictive.

He once more plundered her mouth, his hands closing about, and then provocatively kneading the globes of her bottom. The long muscles framing his back flexed like steel beneath her wandering hands. She ran her fingers down his back, counting the ribs as she traced the muscles leading her down his sides and back to his waist, to caress the rippling bands across his abdomen. They rippled at each touch.

Gaining courage, her fingers quested lower. He sucked in a breath and held it as she lightly traced the prominent line of his erection. He stilled, his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, when she reached for the waistband of his breeches. As she undid the flap, he groaned into her mouth. Thrilled at her newfound power, Eleanor hurriedly undid the rest and slid one hand inside the opened flap, and found the rigid length of him. Hot with skin so very soft and smooth...

He was under her spell, entirely focused on her hand and what she was doing. Her fingers explored freely and learned the size and shape of him. He was solid, larger than she imagined. He more than filled her hand. Growing bolder, she closed her fingers around him, circling him, and this time a shudder accompanied his groan.

She knew she was playing with fire, but she took her time fondling his sac; wonder blooming as it tightened in her hand. She could feel the surge of heated passion rising through him, provoked by her play, and it rose in her body in kind. She throbbed and grew damp between her thighs.

His mouth finally left hers, but he didn’t stop her games. He truly was a saint because he let her play. She could see the tension in his neck, the cords tight as a bow.

Ambrose clenched his jaw and endured her touch, when all he wanted was to throw her on the settee behind her and sink into the heaven he knew he’d find there. He wanted to bury himself so deep and let her wrap those gazelle-like legs around him.

Though her experience was not vast, her touch was pure heaven, her instincts sound. He watched the wonderment in her smile and another surge of heat, of pure unadulterated desire, rose, hardening and lengthening the part of his anatomy that was currently the determined focus of her being. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself in check.

Not long. He made the mistake of looking down as she sent her thumb stroking over the aching head of his shaft and found a latent drop. She looked deep into his eyes, brought her thumb to her lips, and tasted murmuring approval.

Control slipped. He caught his breath, nudged her face up and found her lips again, drew her into a drugging kiss, and ruthlessly, deliberately, took over. He didn’t hold back. He seized and devoured, claiming her mouth, her lips, with a promise of what else he’d claim this night.

He would dictate the pace. He impatiently drew her hand away and efficiently divested himself of the rest of his clothes.

He looked magnificent. A Greek God come to life. She took in the sight, drank in the glory.

He drew her close, then closer until there was not even air between them. Silken skin caressing his chest, her arms, his erection, cradled in her softness, while he plundered her mouth, holding her and her senses captive.

Eleanor tried to move closer. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in her life. Far from resisting, she sank into his arms, gave herself up to his commanding kiss, surrendered and waited, nerves tight with anticipation, for him to make her his.

Without breaking their kiss, he lifted her onto the settee, a cushion falling to the floor, ignored. She let out a cry of disappointment when his lips left hers, only to moan in relief as his mouth found one tight, furled nipple.

His hot mouth suckled and savored. Her head fell back; her gasp shivered through the room. He feasted like a starving man. He laved her breasts, suckled, nipped—sending arrows of heat to her core. His mouth gave such pleasure she prayed he never stopped. Her hands closed on his skull, holding him to her; she was never letting go. His mouth was heaven on her flesh.

She rode the waves of delight he evoked. His hands roamed her curves while his mouth devoured her breasts. A wild wantonness erupted within and she reached for him. She gloried in the feel of his hard body, the evidence of his desire never more real. Eleanor stroked his cock once, and he growled deep in his chest. He urged her back on the remaining cushions, and she went willingly. Her skin was flaming, her body melting, all her senses heightened and in scattered disarray. He followed her down, one knee rising and pushing between hers, parting her thighs, exposing the musky scent of her arousal to the room.

Eleanor felt a momentary embarrassment when his muscled thigh, raspy with masculine hair, pressed against her dampness, but his groan of admiration made her revel in unbridled excitement. He deliberately shifted, pressing against the most sensitive spot, knowingly winding her tight... Her breath tangled in her throat.

She traced the rock-hard muscles in his arms as he braced himself over her, his other knee joining the first, pushed her legs apart, spreading her thighs so he could settle between them.

Their eyes locked and silently communicated. He looked down her bare torso to where their bodies would join, and the set of his face told her all she needed to know. The angles and planes of his handsome face were sharp with desire. There was an elemental rawness of the conquering male, and it thrilled her. She cupped his face and nodded.