Sitting in the parlor, watching as the servants finished trimming the tree, Julia could hardly believe it was Christmas Eve, that three weeks had passed so quickly. Allie slept in a nearby cradle that was decorated with holly and red velvet ribbon. She was such a delight, but still so small. Dr. Warren had decided she needed to be fed formula rather than mother’s milk.
“I feel as though I’m failing her,” she’d told Albert.
“You only fail her if you don’t heed your doctor’s advice,” he’d assured her.
She hadn’t expected her husband to be so attentive or to spend so much time holding his daughter. With winter upon them, there was little need for him to go out and check on his tenants, but she still hadn’t anticipated that much of his day would be spent entertaining her. They played cards. Sometimes he read to her.
He would get a bit miffed when she insisted upon walking through the residence. “I would think your physician has good reason for encouraging you to stay abed.”
“I can think of none when I feel so much better after I walk.”
He always accompanied her, provided an arm, and didn’t harp on his displeasure with her. Their strolls were her favorite moments of the day. Sometimes they were silent. Sometimes they shared memories of their youth and spoke of their plans for Allie, all the things they would show her, teach her. Following in her father’s footsteps, she would travel the world. Their daughter most certainly was going to have a singular upbringing.
Julia had always thought she loved Albert as much as it was possible to love a man. Strange to discover that with each passing day she loved him more deeply.
He stood by the fireplace with its evergreen boughs, his elbow resting on the mantel as he slowly sipped his scotch, his gaze on the activity near the tree. He was so incredibly attractive and masculine, every inch of him calling to her wantonness. From time to time he would glance over at her, smile, then his gaze would dip to the cradle, his eyes would soften. They were a family. They would have so many moments like this. A lifetime’s worth.
“Is it to your liking, m’lady?” Mrs. Bedell asked as the servants who had been assisting her stood at attention, hopeful expressions mirrored on each of their faces.
“Yes, thank you, it’s beautiful.”
The housekeeper ushered out the servants. Albert walked over and took the chair beside hers. “I’m surprised you weren’t in the thick of things, assisting them.”
“I did put up a couple of baubles while you went to retrieve your scotch.”
He laughed. “You are a stubborn wench.”
“I’m not going to spend any more time abed.”
He turned in the chair so he could see her more easily. “Julia—”
“I’m fine, Albert.”
Reaching out, he took her hand, his expression deadly serious. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I feel best when I’m up and about. Now that I’m no longer nursing, my body doesn’t need all the rest.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any real harm in it. I did once see a woman in Africa give birth and then immediately return to skinning hides.”
“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before?”
“I’m not going to give you ammunition for your arguments.”
She slapped playfully at his arm, glad to see his eyes twinkling with humor. “I should be cross with you.”
“Not on Christmas Eve.”
“No, not on Christmas Eve.”
He leaned toward her. “So what present did you get me?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m not telling, but it should be arriving any time now.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re having something delivered here today for me?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
He pursed his lips together. “What is it?”
“Patience, my husband. I’ve been planning this for a while. I’m not going to ruin the surprise now by telling you what it is.” Taking his hand, she settled back against the chair. He finished off his scotch, set the glass aside, stared at the tree.
“It’s so quiet,” he said solemnly.
“I know you miss him.”
“More than I can say. It would be a difficult Christmas indeed, if not for Allie.”
“Then I’m glad she came early, even if she is a bit small.”
“She’s growing. She’s getting heavier in my arms. Next Christmas she’ll be climbing all over that tree.”
Julia heard the front door opening, voices in the entryway, and fought not to change her expression, not to give anything away.
“Who’s that?” Albert asked, coming to his feet. “Carolers, do you think?”
Julia rose as well. “Perhaps. Should probably go see.”
He offered his arm. They’d taken only two steps when the Duke and Duchess of Ashebury and Viscount Locksley crossed the threshold.
“Happy Christmas!” they all said in unison.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Albert asked.
“We were invited,” Ashebury announced.
Clearly confused, Albert looked at her. She smiled. “Your gift arrives at last. Merry Christmas, my love.”
“You could not have given me anything better.”
Then he hauled her up against him and took her mouth.
He hadn’t kissed her since just before she gave birth, and he knew he could not have chosen a worse moment to do so—with an audience. But he’d been dreading the holidays, known they were another moment that would hammer home the absence of his brother. And he was truly touched by her gift of his friends.
He welcomed the excuse to show his appreciation by plastering his lips to hers. He suffered through the agony of holding her every night, chastely, his arm around her diminishing waist. Each day, the evidence that she’d given birth dwindled. And he found himself wanting her all the more, fighting to keep his desires in check.
The fight was raging now—again with an audience.
Breaking from the kiss, he strode toward their visitors. “This is a marvelous surprise.” He gave the duchess a hug, a kiss on the cheek. Shook Ashe’s hand, clapped his back, did the same with Locke before asking him, “What about your father?”
“He’s never liked Christmas,” Locke said. “You know that. I doubt he’ll even notice I’m not there.”
“Well, I’m glad to have you here. Allow me to introduce you to Lady Alberta.”
Minerva hadn’t bothered to wait for him to lead them over. She was already at Julia’s side, cooing over the child whom Julia now cradled lovingly in her arms. He’d never before realized how much a mother could love a child, had never considered what he and the others had missed out on by not having their mothers about as they grew into men.
“She’s gorgeous,” Minerva said.
“We think so,” Julia admitted. “And Albert is a wonderful father, rocking her in the middle of the night when she awakens.”
He could feel the gazes of both Ashe and Locke bearing down on him, knew what they were thinking, that they were judging him. He hardly blamed them. Once they’d given adequate attention to Julia and the babe, he suggested they retire to the library for a quick brandy before dinner.
The library door had barely closed behind them when Ashe said, “You haven’t told her yet.”
Not a question, a statement. Edward strode to the sideboard, poured brandy into three snifters, turned to hand them each one. “She wanted a perfect Christmas. I didn’t think her knowing she was a widow would accomplish that. I’ll tell her after.”
“This seems an incredibly unwise course.”
Not the first one he’d ever traveled. Ignoring the censure and a need to respond, he raised his glass. “To Lady Alberta and Julia’s health.”
The gentlemen drank, Edward downing far more than either of them. Now he needed to think of another toast, give them reasons to continue drinking so they’d leave off the inquisition.
“And the kiss?” Ashe asked.
Edward fought not to reveal his irritation that Ashe was acting as though he were a chaperon. He didn’t want them reading anything into his displeasure other than what it was: annoyance at having all his actions questioned. “A husband kisses his wife when she does something to please him, doesn’t he?”
“Not always with quite so much enthusiasm,” Locke said. “The two of you generated more heat than the logs burning in the fireplace.”
“Bugger off, both of you.”
“You’ve grown to like her,” Ashe said, clearly befuddled.
“I might appreciate her more than I once did.” No harm in admitting that. They’d always liked her, thought he’d been a fool not to feel the same.
“The longer you wait—”
“Damn you, Ashe, do you not think I’m aware that there will never be a perfect moment to break her heart? The holidays just seemed an unusually cruel time to do so. In the new year. She’ll be fully recovered from the ordeal of childbirth and better able to cope with the grief. I’ll tell her then.”
Ashe tipped his head in acquiescence, sipped his brandy, his eyes narrowing. “Just see that you do or I shall.”
“It’s not your place.”
“As Albert’s friend, I disagree. He wouldn’t want his wife taken advantage of.”
“How pray tell am I taking advantage of her? I’m not bedding her. An occasional kiss is harmless. From the beginning, I’ve done nothing except strive to protect her. I gain nothing for myself by continuing the ruse.”
“He does have a point,” Locke said, tapping a finger against his snifter. “He’s truly the Earl of Greyling now. The temporary role is now a permanent one.”
Edward nodded, met each of their gazes, wanted to confirm the truth of his feelings. “I wish to God she’d had a boy. The title should go to Albert’s son, not his brother, but that little girl has stolen my heart.”
“She’s the image of her mother,” Locke offered.
“She is that. Albert would have been pleased.”
“We need to make a toast to the new Earl of Greyling,” Ashe said, lifting his glass. “Welcome to our ranks, my lord.”
They all raised their glasses before downing the contents that remained in each one. Edward poured them more.
“You’ll be a good earl,” Locke said.
“I shall at least try.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe Julia invited you here and kept it from me.”
“She feared you’d be melancholy.”
“But you two shall stop that from happening.”
“Absolutely. Whatever else are friends for?”
For holding secrets.
“Were you really pleased with your surprise?” Julia asked as Albert joined her in the sitting area of her bedchamber.
Dinner had been a smashing success, with more laughter and joviality than she’d heard in ages. It had lightened her heart to see her husband enjoying himself.
“You could not have given me anything better,” he said as he sat beside her on the sofa.
She had already changed into her nightdress, while he was still dressed for the evening. She might have suspected that he and the other gents were going to play billiards if it weren’t for the fact that their company had already retired for the night.
“I fear my gift to you will pale in comparison.”
“You’ve already given me the journal, although I decided not to read it until after the holidays. It seemed like peeking into the box otherwise.”
“You’re deserving of something much more than a journal.”
Before she could tell him that it was the very best present he could have given her, he slid a leather case out of his inside jacket pocket and set it on her lap. “Shouldn’t this be beneath the tree so that I can open it in the morning?”
“You might think Father Christmas brought it to you. I’d rather you open it now while it’s only the two of us.”
Removing the lid revealed a bracelet of linked pewter roses. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“Whenever I see roses, I think of you,” he said quietly.
She smiled at him. “They’re my favorite flower, my favorite fragrance.”
With one large hand, he cradled her cheek. “They became mine the first time I kissed you.”
He took her mouth with such tenderness, such gentleness, that she nearly wept. As she was still recovering from childbirth, he had been incredibly patient, marvelously solicitous, not pressuring her, not insisting on exercising his husbandly rights. Not that he would have to insist on anything. If she were completely healed, she would lead him to the bed at this very second.
With a groan, he shifted, his arms came around her, and she suddenly found herself sprawled across his lap as his tongue lapped at her neck, her collarbone, the dip between her breasts, before trailing over the upper swells. Heat swirled through her, moisture gathered between her thighs. She began fumbling with the buttons on her nightdress. She wanted his mouth over her entire breast, one then the other.
His hand closed around hers as he raised his head, held her gaze. “I won’t be able to stop.”
She sank against him. She was still bleeding, hardly a tempting vixen. Scraping her fingers up into his hair, she fought to calm her erratic heart. “I want you so badly. A few more weeks seem an eternity.” She slid her hand down, pressing her fingers just below his jaw where she could feel the thundering of his pulse. “At least let me make your Christmas merry.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “You know my gentleman’s rule. Besides, when we do finally come together, it will be better for having waited.”
His glorious mouth returned to hers, a little less gentle than before, with a little more hunger, a little more heat. His hands behaved, daring only to stroke her back, her hips, her spine. But his lips, his tongue, behaved with complete abandon, caressing every inch of her mouth, drawing moans and sighs from her, causing heat to ebb and flow through her until she was mad for him.
She fought to keep her own hands equally chaste as they roamed over his shoulders, chest, and back, loosening his cravat, setting his buttons free, but never venturing below his waist, never traversing to the heart of his manhood, even though she could feel it pressed against her, straining against his trousers.
Slowly, so gradually that she was barely aware of it happening, he shifted position until they were stretched out on the sofa, her legs entangled with his, his strong arm cradling her the only thing that kept her from tumbling to the floor.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he erupted in deep, masculine, satisfied laughter. “Why the hell are we cramped together here on the sofa when we could be sprawled in the bed?”
“Because it makes what we’re doing seem more forbidden.”
Holding her gaze, he danced his fingers slowly along her cheek, her neck. “You like the forbidden.”
Her cheeks warmed as she recalled all the inappropriate things she’d muttered in his ear, his deaf ear, words no proper lady should ever know, much less speak. Powerfully titillating, they were her little secret. What would his opinion of her be if he knew of them?
“You never have to hide anything from me, Jules,” he murmured in a low cadence that thrummed through her, made her want to hear him purring unsuitable, suggestive statements. “You can always be yourself with me.”
Only she couldn’t, not on this matter. Once she spoke the words so he could hear them, there would be no taking them back. What if she offended him, shocked him, caused him to lose all respect for her? What if he didn’t? The allure of whispering wicked things in his ear would dissipate. She liked doing it because she knew she shouldn’t.
“I am always myself with you,” she assured him, and part of being herself was keeping some delicious secrets.
She brought his head down until their mouths met, their tongues danced and their moans echoed around them. Until the passion soared and the hunger had them rolling off the sofa and onto the floor. How he managed to do it so he landed first, cushioning her fall, was beyond her.
She wanted him desperately, now, tonight. Wanted him moving inside her—
“Enough!” He scooted away from her until he was sitting with his back against the wall, one leg stretched out before him, the other raised, knee bent. Breathing heavily, he plowed his hand through his hair, tugged on his ear in that endearing way he had, and gazed at her with smoldering eyes that put the heat from the fire to shame. “You are a vixen.”
With a self-satisfied laugh, she pushed herself up until her back was against the sofa. She brought her knees up against her chest, tucked the hem of her nightdress beneath her toes. “You want me.”
“Of course I want you. With every breath I draw.”
She almost giggled as though she were a young girl. He was disheveled, his shirt hanging half off. She’d done that. Made a mess of him. They’d never gone at it before out of the bed. He was correct. She did like forbidden things.
“You show remarkable restraint, my lord.” She wanted to go to her hands and knees, crawl toward him like a cat stalking its prey, but until they could bring their passions to complete physical fruition, it seemed cruel to tease him too much.
“You’ve no idea.”
She batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “Oh, I think I do.”
Laughing, he dropped his head back. “You will be the death of me.”
“They call it the little death, don’t they?” she asked, feigning a shyness she didn’t really feel. Lately she’d been bolder with him than she’d ever been. Perhaps it was giving birth that made her so comfortable with the needs of her body. And his. “That moment when the world falls away.”
“Is that what it feels like for you?”
Nodding, she knew she was blushing. She would probably ignite if she ever shared with him the words she dared to utter that he couldn’t hear. “And you?”
He released a long, slow sigh. “Makes me feel as though I could conquer the world. And it feels bloody marvelous as well.”
She laughed lightly, and dared to repeat, “Yes, it feels bloody marvelous.”
Shoving himself to his feet, he reached a hand down to her. “Come, my little vixen. To bed. We have company to entertain tomorrow, a feast to consume, and a day to enjoy.”
Liking immensely that he considered her a vixen, she slipped her hand in his. “And one less day to mark off until we can be together completely,” she told him as he pulled her up.
“One less day,” he said, leading her to the bed.
She found it odd that he sounded a little saddened by the prospect. Keeping her observations to herself, she clambered beneath the blankets and was soon nestled in his arms. She wanted nothing to ruin what had been a most wonderful Christmas Eve.
“You gentlemen are absolutely no good at this game,” Julia announced, crossing her arms over her chest, mimicking a pout that as it turned out wasn’t as much of a mimic as it should have been. She was striving not to be cross, because they weren’t taking the activity seriously.
After a Christmas feast filled with much talk and laughter, rather than letting the gentlemen retreat to the smoking room for port and a cigars, she insisted they join her and Minerva in the parlor for a few games.
Presently they were all sitting in a circle. The object was not to smile. Generally, people had a very difficult time not twitching their lips or even chortling when they knew they weren’t supposed to. But not these gents. So far, she and Minerva had alternated losing rounds while the men just sat there stoically, their mouths not even quivering with the need to lift up.
To make matters worse, staring at Albert’s beautiful mouth, waiting for him to smile, only made her recall how heated his kisses had been last night, which in turn made her want to get up, settle on his lap, and latch her mouth onto his until he carried her from the room.
“Actually, we’re very good at it,” he said now, his face set in a smug expression that she thought her kiss would utterly destroy. “We’ve yet to smile.”
“But you’re supposed to!” she screeched in frustration.
“Except you told us not to.”
Minerva started laughing, and Julia glared at her. “Help me out here.”
“Perhaps we should give charades a go.”
“We don’t have an even number for charades.” She flung her hand toward the viscount. “If Locksley would only marry—”
He made a choking cough that strongly resembled a strangle. “Now you sound like my father.”
“Has he been after you to marry?” Minerva asked.
“Relentlessly. I was hoping that here, at least, I might find some respite from the constant nagging.”
“Only marriage will accomplish that,” Julia assured him. “Minerva and I shall make it our mission this Season to find you a woman to love.”
“Oh, I’d never marry a woman I could love. If I learned anything at all from my father it is that along that path lies madness.”
Julia shuddered at the words. “Only if she dies young.”
“Which always is a possibility.”
“That’s a morbid way to go through life. No wonder you’re atrocious at this game.”
“As Grey pointed out, we’ve been winning.”
At a loss for any other words she released a deep breath of frustration.
“You have to understand, Julia, we didn’t play parlor games on Christmas,” Albert said kindly.
In the past, it had been only her, Albert, and Edward here for the holiday, which was the reason she’d invited his friends. There was no hope for it. This year would be different from years past. She just hadn’t wanted the difference to be melancholy. “What did you do?”
He shrugged. “Ran wild mostly. No parlor games, no tree, no evergreen boughs or ribbons, no feast. No Father Christmas. For us it was a day like any other.”
“Carolers from the village certainly never ventured to Havisham,” Ashebury said.
“That makes me sad.” She shifted her gaze to her husband. “You knew it would. I suppose that’s why you never told me about it before.”
“You shouldn’t be sad. We weren’t.”
“But you must have had memories of Christmas with your parents.”
“We did. They were magical, special. Marsden offered us nothing to replace them. In a way that was a gift.”
She looked at Locksley. “So you were grown before you experienced a Christmas celebration?”
Appearing uncomfortable, he shifted in his chair. “This is actually my first opportunity to partake in the traditions of the season, and to be quite honest, I’m not particularly fond of the parlor games.”
She fluttered her hand in the air. “Off with you all! Go have your port and cigars, while Minerva and I—”
“Join us,” Albert said, standing and extending his hand. “It’s Christmas; let’s start a new tradition.”
As hostess, she needed to ensure her guests were comfortable. She glanced over at Minerva. “Are you willing?”
“Absolutely. Rather than parlor games, in the future might I suggest poker?”
Ashe was suddenly at her side, helping her to her feet. “Only if you won’t cheat.”
“My dear husband, I wouldn’t dare consider it—unless something I wanted was at stake.”
Laughing, he began escorting his wife from the room. Locksley followed.
Julia placed her hand in Albert’s and he drew her up until she was in the circle of his arms, his mouth moving insistently over hers. Winding her arms around his shoulders, she returned his kiss with equal fervor.
A clearing of a throat had them jumping apart as though they were young lovers caught doing something they shouldn’t. Ashe stood in the doorway, eyebrow arched. “Joining us?”
“You’re irritating, Ashe,” Albert said as he offered her his arm before leading her from the room.
“Trust me, I could be more so.” He spun on his heel and headed to his wife, who was waiting for him.
“What did he mean by that?” Julia asked, sensing a tension in her husband that hadn’t been there before.
“As the highest in rank and the eldest, he’s always felt he had the right to boss us around, so he’s just being Ashe.”
“But you’re glad he’s here.”
“Very glad he’s here. You’ve given me a wonderful gift today.”
When they reached the smoking room, they discovered Locksley handing out the glasses of port he’d poured while waiting for them. He raised his glass. “To new Christmas memories.”
“No, wait!” Julia said before anyone could take a sip. “That’s lovely, but I want us to take just a moment to remember Edward.”
“Julia—”
“Albert, I don’t mean to bring in sadness, but I thought it might be nice if we all silently reflected on one moment when he made us smile.”
“Did he ever make you smile?”
“More often than he realized, which would have irritated him, no doubt, but that makes me smile even more. It’s no secret that we had our differences, but I do hope he’s at peace.” She lifted her glass. “So to Edward.”
“To Edward,” they repeated far more solemnly than she wanted before taking a sip of the port.
“Now,” Minerva announced, “I’d like a cigar.”
As Ashe and Locke turned to the wooden box on the sideboard that held the cigars, Julia faced her husband, cupped his cheek, rose up on her toes and kissed him sweetly, tenderly. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Jules.”
“And may the coming year bring us nothing but happiness.” Lifting her glass, she finished off her port, watched as her husband did the same, and wondered why he suddenly seemed remarkably sad.