The Captain's Christmas Bride. ANNIE BURROWS
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St George strode onto the scene, waving his cardboard sword.
The guests gave a rousing cheer, which drowned out the gasp Sir Isaac Newton gave when she pinched his bottom, hard.
She kept her gaze directed at the mummers, and their antics, when he turned to see who’d pinched him. It was bright enough, just here, for him to be able to see her fairly clearly, and she only bore a superficial resemblance to Nellie. She had the same soft roundness to her jaw, but anyone looking closely at the uncovered part of her face would surely notice that her mouth was not as generous, nor her lips so full. And it would be fatal to look directly into David’s eyes. Even though the upper part of her face was covered, and she was using her cleavage as a distraction, if he looked into her eyes he’d be sure to wonder why Nellie’s melting brown eyes had faded to the hue of a peeled grape. And he’d know. And be furious that she was doing something so improper.
But she was done with being proper. It hadn’t got them anywhere at all. If only he didn’t recognise her then the chances were she could get him to behave in a highly improper fashion, too, and then all their problems would be solved!
Only he still wasn’t doing anything! St George was stepping over the heroine, who’d just collapsed in an artistically terrified swoon, but Sir Isaac Newton was just standing perfectly still, apparently content to savour the sensation of her fondling his behind.
Now what?
Oh, bother the man, couldn’t he just once forget propriety, and act with a bit of dash? Well, there was nothing for it. She was just going to have to take the initiative.
She removed her hand from his bottom, and fumbled her way round the tailcoat until she discovered his hand. She got as many fingers round it as she could, considering it was bunched round the brass telescope, and gave it a little tug.
It was enough to propel him into movement. Meek as a lamb, he followed her to the nearest door, which happened to lead out onto the terrace, then all along its length, and down the steps at the end.
She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder, not even when they plunged into the pitch darkness of the path through the shrubbery. And especially not when they emerged again, round the back of the house, where some light did filter out through one or two unshuttered windows, making the glass roof of the orangery glitter as though it was sprinkled with sequins.
She’d chosen to take David to the orangery because it would be lovely and warm in there. It was tacked on to the back of the kitchens where specially designed flues kept her father’s collection of rare tropical plants frost-free throughout the winter. Gatley, the head gardener, had locked the door when the first of the house guests arrived, to prevent anyone wandering in and then carelessly leaving the door open when they wandered out again. But the lock on one of the sash windows, which could be raised or lowered during the summer months for ventilation, was broken. She’d made sure of it that very afternoon.
Julia had to let go of his hand while she pushed the sash window up, but that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have come all this way only to run away now.
She stepped over the sill, and stood to one side so he could do the same. Then she carefully lowered the sash again. Gatley would be livid if his precious plants were exposed to a draught. Anyway, she didn’t want to be exposed to a draught either. Not when there was so very little gown draping any part of her body.
Goodness but it was dark in here. Only a faint glimmer of moonlight peeked in through the roof. The massed palms at the east end of the orangery curtained the interior from any light that might have found its way this far from the house.
But the darkness seemed to make David uncharacteristically bold. He didn’t even wait for her to turn round before sliding his arms round her waist, and bending his head to kiss her cheek. As his lips brushed her skin, sending delicious shivers right down her spine, she felt his tricorne hat tangle with her feathers.
With a low growl, he pulled off his hat, and his wig, and tossed them aside. Then stooped to lay the telescope down on top. She turned round, longing to be in his arms again, but face-to-face this time, so that he could kiss her properly. On the lips. And so, as he straightened up, she flung her arms round his neck and pressed her lips to his before he could say anything, or required her to say anything that would give her away, and have him marching her back to the house, scolding her all the way.
And, oh, joy! He put his arms round her, and kissed her back.
At last. At last. And, oh, it was every bit as magical as she’d ever dreamed. Better. For now she was in his arms, he seemed taller and broader, and so very much more...muscular, and masculine, than she’d expected.
Her heart pounded, her breath shortened as though she’d been running. Actually, her feet were moving, now she came to think of it. For he’d turned her round a bit, and was steering her toward the rear wall. Against which there was a bench. Oh, clever, clever David, to remember the bench where they’d all sat on rainy days, talking of every topic imaginable. Until, that was, her father had warned him off.
He kissed her all the way to the bench, then let go of her with one hand to feel his way down to the cushions. He sat, and pulled her down after him. Not that she needed much of a pull from his hand. It had taken all her resolve to stop herself from flinging herself onto his lap. Except he didn’t pull her onto his lap, but onto the bench next to him. Oh, well, it was almost as good. It was heaven to feel his mouth on hers once more. Such heaven, that she put up no resistance at all when he pushed against her, and kept on pushing, until she was sprawled rather inelegantly on her back with him half over her.
Never mind the inelegance of the sprawl, she sighed. It felt too wonderful to feel his weight bearing down on her. She put her arms round his neck, kissing his face and caressing his shoulders to encourage him to keep on doing what he was doing. Because if Marianne and Nellie found them together like this, then there was no way he could deny he’d crossed the line.
Though, ought she to let him be quite so free? His hands were exploring rather more of her than she’d expected. And a deal more roughly. Not that he was hurting her, on the contrary, it was all very stimulating.
She did let out a shocked gasp when he delved into the front of her bodice and scooped out her left breast. But it didn’t stop him raising it to his mouth, and lashing it with his tongue.
Heavens, it was as though she’d unleashed a wild animal.
She’d never dreamed David could be so...unruly.
Or so exciting.
At last he’d abandoned all his stuffy principles about the way a gentleman should behave. Where, now, was his declaration that he was beneath her station? That he couldn’t aspire to her hand?
Sacrificed, apparently, to his determination to get beneath her skirts.
So forgetful of his station was he, that he was actually reaching down, seizing a handful of her gown and pushing the material up her legs.
All thoughts of Marianne and discovery went up in smoke when he moaned into her cleavage at the exact moment his hand reached the soft flesh of her inner thigh. He was being so eager, so ardent. If anyone dared to interrupt them now, she would probably scream with frustration.
For this was absolutely heavenly. She’d never felt anything so utterly delightful.
Until his exploration became shockingly intimate.
She winced, and yelped, at the startling, and rather painful intrusion of his fingers.
‘I’m sorry,’ he growled into her ear. ‘I thought you were ready.’
Ready? For him to touch her there? How could she have imagined he’d want to do such a thing? Not that she could protest. Else he might stop altogether. Which was the last thing she wanted. They had to be discovered locked in a passionate embrace, not sitting next to each other demurely begging each other’s pardon.
While she was still puzzling over what response she ought to make, he dropped to his knees on the floor and pushed