Letters at Christmas (Entangled Scandalous) Read online

  He made a choking sound. Laughing, she supposed. Ah, well. A smile played at her lips. It had been funny, in a most painful and humiliating way. At some point, she had given up pretending to be a graceful, poised young lady, and accepted her growing reputation as a rather clumsy adventuress. She had even seemed to attract suitors that way. They wanted to protect her.

  They wanted to imprison her.

  All she’d wanted was someone to have adventures with.

  “I got invited to all the boating parties after that,” she added. “But I never took Poppet again.”

  “See? I always said you’d be the center of the party.”

  “Yes, and I thought you meant that in a nice way.”

  He laughed. “I did. I do.”

  He tugged her closer between the linens. His face hovered next to hers. She could feel his breath mingling with hers, but the dark kept him hidden. She didn’t know where he was exactly, where his mouth was, until he kissed her.

  His lips found hers unerringly, as if his vision was stronger than hers. He slanted his head to meet her more firmly, his warmth, his knowledge, impossibly intimate. For a moment, she panicked, the same way she had done for every terrace liberty and courtyard peck she’d ever allowed since him. But then the taste of him flooded her senses, memory Hale and this living, breathing stranger merging into one. Who are you? she thought, and then immediately, I know you, I feel you.

  I love you.

  How could the years fall away so quickly? But she found time had never really stood between them. It had been distance. And now that the miles were crossed, the air evaporated from the room, leaving her stunned with fatalistic joy.

  He cupped the back of her neck and kissed down her jaw. She bared her throat to him, knowing, inviting. His lips were tender against the sensitive skin, caressing the hollow at the base of her throat. He reached for the hem of her nightgown, and she jerked in surprise, feeling shock at how fast they were moving…and wonder at how good it still felt.

  He shoved his hand between her legs, probing her with blunt expectation. She almost stopped him. Didn’t she deserve a slower seduction—especially after not receiving a blasted letter?

  Then, even to herself she wondered, would she never let that go? He’d come back to her, safe and happy and wanting her. It was enough, more than enough.

  Then she noticed his hand trembling. Not the one between her legs. That one was sure where it played in her folds, drawing out the wetness and stroking along swollen lips. And touching the one place he had showed her, the place she touched herself. No, it was the hand behind her head that trembled. The hairs behind her neck stood up on end, some primitive instinct awakening to the danger nearby, the instability inherent to him.

  How long had it been for him? A dangerous line of thought, filled with other women and dark, latent jealousy. And yet, she could not deny the urgency that engulfed him. His body quaked while he slid his fingers deeper. His breath stuttered from his mouth while his tongue and lips and teeth demanded. He was a study in sexual contradiction, the nervous ingénue and seasoned seducer, but in his indecision she found her confidence, a new and shared freedom. If he could be breathless and needful, so could she. If he could shiver with desire, then her frantic pulses would soothe him. She swallowed hard, and spread her legs wider.

  Take me.

  On a groan, he said, “Sidony.”

  “I’m here,” she whispered.

  His weight lowered over her body. Something prodded between her legs, hot and urgent. Alarm streaked through her, along with a pinch of pain, a slight stretching sensation. Would he be careful? A fever had overtaken him, blinding him, sighting him. She couldn’t turn him away in his need. This was all she’d wanted, this was what a letter would have meant. He stopped at the final moment. His thick member had breached her, parted her and now held her open. His thighs, rough with hair, kept her thighs apart. He pushed back to look at her. His lust-dazed eyes stared down at her.

  “Marry me.”

  A strange tightness welled in her chest, a prickling in her eyes. She had to admit that this sex-drenched proposal was more romantic to her, for them, than any rose-strewn parade could have been. She had to admit that she loved him. There was only one problem. She couldn’t trust him. One day he had promised her the world. The next he had walked away without looking back. It could happen again. It would happen again, she told herself, and then she would be crushed. Crushed and bound to him by matrimony.

  “No,” she said, but if she thought he’d be discouraged, she’d been wrong.

  He licked her bottom lip. “Yes.”

  And then, for good measure, he pushed inside.

  She gasped. “This is not…open for negotiation.”

  “I believe that’s exactly what we’re doing.” The thick shaft left her empty before sliding into her again. “I love you, Sidony.”

  Her lips parted on a sigh. “You’ll leave again.”

  “No, never. I swear to you.”

  His thrusts became harder, more sure, as if he could prove his devotion through the force of his lovemaking alone—and inexplicably, she found his argument convincing. Pleasure coursed through her, every part of her coming alive. Her body wanted to feel like this, again, always. Her heart wanted him near and safe and hers, in the basest sort of possession. And her mind—ah, her mind was lost to the tidal wave of sensations, dragged under with a soft, muffled cry, and drowned beneath the onslaught of her deepest, most secret desire.

  The feelings crested within her and broke against jagged, damning rocks. Soft sounds of hope lost and found escaped her while she cradled him and urged him on. He froze suddenly, his mouth open. There was that choked sound again, and she realized it wasn’t a laugh. She stared up at the pain and longing in his eyes before he shut them. Then there was only his face stern in ecstasy and the harsh, almost cruel grip on her hips as he ground himself into her. At the moment of crisis, he pulled out, and warmth coated her belly, spilling down her side.

  He slumped over her. Her favorite part, when they had used up every ounce of energy and found something lovely in the space left behind. She felt trust as he lay helpless, felt love as she stroked his back. And deeper, more carnally, the erratic pulse of sated, sensitive flesh within her—an ancient tattoo of spent passion and tender aftermath.

  His head rested beside hers, face pressed against her hair and the pillow. “Devil take it,” he said. “I hadn’t meant to do that.”

  “You asked me to marry you,” she reminded him. “I assumed relations were included.”

  “I hadn’t meant to do that yet. Until you agreed.” He pulled back and rolled off her.

  Suddenly cold, she reached for him. His hand met hers mid-air and squeezed with reassurance. Whatever else he meant or didn’t mean, she knew for sure that his proposal hadn’t been a lark.

  He’d arrived with the intention of asking her, and meant to follow through if she said yes. The words were on the tip of her tongue. A single word, really. What she wanted most in the world…

  He kissed her knuckles. “Not tonight, love. You don’t have to answer yet. Be sure when you tell me yes.”

  “Arrogant,” she accused.

  “You may be angry, but you accepted me back with your heart and body. Don’t try to deny it.”

  She didn’t.

  “You clearly adore me,” he continued with a note of teasing. “There’s no way you’d tell me to go away and never come back. So you’ll have no choice but to marry me.”

  She hated when he was right. “Get out before I call my brother. He wouldn’t be happy to find you in my room.”

  “Maybe not, but you’d definitely have to marry me then.”

  Still hated it. “Out. Now.”

  And then, the worst, he did leave. He said goodnight and sweetheart and then he was gone.

  The quietness of the room felt oppressive, as if the absence of sound had become a tactile thing, closing in on her. She had given him her innocence at sixteen
, but never once had they slept side by side. They would if she said yes. He would leave at some point. Lose interest, the way he had done before. The near-proximity version of not writing. But before then, he would hold her all through the night. There would be some compensation of marriage, then.

  Chapter Three

  I see you everywhere; your midnight hair blanketing the sky. The earthy color of your eyes on a distant shore. Each reminder cuts at my heart, the whole leaving me abraded and raw.

  My greatest fear is that the reminders will one day quiet, and I would be feeling nothing at all.

  Sidony woke up to the jangle of bells from outside. Throwing off the cover, she rushed to the window. Two sleighs waited in the snow while the grooms led high-stepping horses into their places. She shouted and clapped, feeling like a child.

  Sleigh rides had been her favorite Yuletide tradition. They had stopped doing that before Hale even left, but she was thrilled to start again. She knew who had come up with the idea, and it wasn’t her brother. It was Hale, she registered dazedly.

  A Christmas present to her.

  She was halfway out the door when she realized she was still wearing her nightgown. She rang for help and reached for her shift—then stopped. Normally she’d have been half dressed by the time her maid arrived to tie the back ribbons and pin up her hair. In the country, she shed the pomp and formality of town life, but maybe that was a problem.

  The changes in Hale’s physical appearance were obvious, from the roughened skin to the lean body to the expensive cut of his clothes. But she would look just the same as he had left her, without any of the polish or adornment acquired in her seasons. No wonder he’d assumed she would simply fall at his feet, cheerfully in love and willing to marry immediately. Exactly as she had been at seventeen years old.

  She had Anna dress her in her rose-colored carriage dress with velvet-lined pelisse. A few curled tendrils artfully escaped the matching bonnet.

  There. She stared at herself in the mirror, pleased at the poise and sophistication reflected back at her—and mildly disconcerted. When had her transformation happened? On the first ball, the second? Her bosom was fuller, her stance straighter. The blue eyes that stared back at her twinkled with some secret. This not-Sidony would fit very handsomely beside the not-Hale downstairs.

  On the last step of the staircase, she paused, suddenly shy. It would have been even more special to go on this ride as his betrothed. So why couldn’t she say yes?

  But she couldn’t.

  Looking sharp wasn’t enough. She wished she could know his intentions, his heart.

  If he loved her, even a little, it could work. But if he was only marrying her because he’d had his fun and now he wanted a convenient and proper wife, then she could not. If he were marrying her out of a sense of duty, from having taken her virginity, or worse, pity because she had not yet married, then she would die of embarrassment.

  With a resolute breath in and out, she stepped into the breakfast room. A steaming mug of cocoa sat in her usual place. She took a sip while staring out the window to where Hale helped the stable boys harness the horse. He moved with a new graceful economy. Even through the window she could see the dark tan of his skin.

  She remembered the weather-roughened texture beneath his clothes—of his sides, his back. He had been strong before he left, healthy and virile. But last night she’d felt a subtle difference in even the most innocuous of places. His skin was tougher and tanned and what else? Roughened by the weather and scars turned white with healing. Had he been injured? She didn’t like to think of it.

  She couldn’t stop thinking of it.

  Outside, she found a woman beside the first sleigh. Catherine was the widow who lived south of Pendle Hill—close enough to ride but long enough to make overnight stays preferable. She and Geoffrey had been special friends since well before Sidony was supposed to understand what that meant. Being unmarried, Sidony knew she was still not supposed to understand. But she did, of course. She and Hale had figured out the particulars together. It had been inevitable, really. He had practically lived with them, having no other family, and she had loved him. Still loved him, if she were honest.

  Honesty was overrated.

  Catherine smiled and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “You look absolutely lovely.” She lowered her voice. “Hale will certainly agree.”

  Feigning surprise, she said, “Oh, do you think so?”

  They walked arm in arm to the second sleigh, where the men were bickering over proper positioning of the harness.

  “It’s too high,” Hale was saying. “It’s pushing pressure onto their neck, not their shoulders.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “How long has it been since you even rode? If I need advice about sea currents I’ll be sure to ask you.”

  “A man never forgets.” He patted the horse who snorted contentedly. “And look, Petra remembers me too.”

  “Because you slipped her an apple.”

  Sidony and Catherine shared an indulgent look. Geoffrey and Hale rarely argued indoors, but when it came to matters of horses or anything sporting, they were at each other’s throats.

  Hale bent to help the groom load hot bricks in the floor of the sleigh.

  Geoffrey turned to her, raising a brow. “You look sharp. What’s the occasion?”

  She sighed. Really, they would allow her no dignity. “These are my clothes.”

  “Right. Well, I realized that now you’ve come out, and Hale is here, we need a chaperone, don’t we? We’re lucky Catherine was available on such short notice.”

  “Hmm.” Sidony doubted chaperoning was on his mind when he’d invited Catherine. Still, the widow would keep her brother distracted so she could question Hale.

  Hale straightened and wiped stray snowflakes from his face. “Well, everything looks ready to—”

  Mouth open around a silent word, he stopped and stared at her. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, eyes sparkling with vigor. Chilly winds had tousled his raven black hair. Her pulse beat erratically, waiting for his verdict. No, not waiting for his verdict. She didn’t care what he thought about her. She looked fine, presentable. Pretty. Didn’t she?

  He frowned. She had the distinct impression he was going to insult her appearance. He was insulting it by staring at her with a look of such discomfort. Still, he wouldn’t dare mention it with her brother and Catherine present. It would be inappropriate and rude and—

  “What are you wearing?”

  “It’s called a dress,” she snapped, brushing past him to the sleigh. One would think she went around in rags every day.

  He helped her in and hopped inside. “I just hadn’t seen that one before, that’s all.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t seen most of my clothes. You’ve been gone, remember?”

  Geoffrey rocked back on his heels. “Well, I suppose Catherine and I will take the other sleigh. You two will be all right, won’t you?”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Hale assured him, handing her a lap throw.

  “I was worried about you,” Geoffrey muttered as he turned to leave. Catherine followed, sending a sly wink to Sidony before she let Geoffrey help her inside. At least one person believed in her.

  They started off behind Geoffrey’s sleigh as the melody of jingling bells filled the crisp winter air. True to Hale’s prediction, the horses were slow and skittish under his rein at first, but they smoothed out under the steady pace.

  Wind whipped around their faces, stinging her with icy drops and stealing the air from her lungs. They sang Christmas carols to start, when the sleighs moved slowly enough to be heard. God rest ye merry, gentlemen; Let nothing you dismay. Her high voice mingled with Catherine’s, their song underscored by the low baritone of the men. Until they turned off the lawn onto the road and horses sped up, and the wind ate up her words. O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy. She fell silent, smiling, exhilarated, almost forgetting why she was annoyed at Hale…until she n
oticed him peering at her strangely.

  She sighed. “Do I look so awful?”

  “What?” He seemed startled. “I never said that.”

  “You’re looking at me as if I’ve grown a second head.”

  “You look…different.”

  “Different. Well, you should have seen me in my grand ball gowns. They can turn the plainest girl into a princess. You wouldn’t have proposed to me in the form of a wager then,” she huffed.

  “Probably not,” he murmured. A laugh drifted back from the sleigh in front of them. He nodded to them. “Why haven’t those two gotten married yet?”

  “Because men are inconstant?” she offered sweetly.

  He shot her a brooding glance. “But your brother didn’t leave.”

  The only time Catherine had spoken of her late husband, there’d been a hollow look in her eye. “I don’t think she wishes to marry again.”

  “Her, too?” he asked wryly. “You can start a club. The Ladies Against Matrimony.”

  “I don’t have a problem with marriage.”

  “Ah, so it’s just me you object to.”

  He was goading her, but this was exactly the subject she wanted to breach. “Why didn’t you write? Just tell me, and I might understand.”

  “You don’t really wish to know, Sidony. You’re asking for an excuse when I have none.”

  “No, I want to know the real reason.”

  “You won’t like it,” he warned.

  “Maybe not, but I deserve it. I deserve it because you asked me to marry you. I deserve it for sending you off with my innocence that night. The least you can do is tell me what happened.”

  To her surprise, he nodded resignedly. Though he didn’t begin speaking immediately.

  Instead he flicked the reins and turned them off on a side road.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry, your brother won’t notice.”

  True to his word, the jangle of bells dimmed between the thick, snow-laden trees. Geoffrey would be too focused on Catherine to glance back, and even if he noticed them gone, he trusted them. Ruefully, she acknowledged he’d always trusted them.